Putting Us Back Together
by thebookworm214
Summary: Sherlock returns, but John is recently married very happily to one Mary Morstan. Molly is still there and as in love with him as ever. Can he truly love her back, or is he too hung up on John? Smut, drama, later violence, Series 2 spoilers
1. Chapter 1

**All rights go to BBC, Moffat, Gatiss and ACD of course. While Mollock is not my OTP, it is the one of my co-writer, ladycorvidae, the Molly to my very surprised Sherlock. R & R, and no worries, there are many more chapters to come. Enjoy!**

Chapter 1: A Piece of Shattered Glass

_What would you say if I told you that Sherlock Holmes was a fake? - {unknown}_

_I believe in Sherlock Holmes. -MHooper_

_I don't know if that's an intelligent thing to do. - {unknown}_

_And why do you say that? - MHooper_

_Because what if he's not worth believing in? What if people believing puts them in danger? - {unknown}_

_He /is/ worth believing in. And people can choose to take that risk. I have, and I don't regret it at all. - MHooper_

_Thank you, Molly. You have no idea what that means to me. - {unknown}_

_Sherlock...? - MHooper_

_Hello. - {unknown}_

_Oh thank god. I was beginning to wonder if you had actually died while you were abroad. How are you holding up? - MHooper_

_Not very well. Molly, I can't live without John. - {unknown}_

_Oh, Sherlock...I'm...I'm sorry. - MHooper_

_Molly, oh God, Molly, please don't tell me he-he did something irretrievably stupid. - {unknown}_

_No! No no no. Nothing like that, I'm sorry for making you think that at all. He...John is married, Sherlock. He married a woman named Mary Morstan about three months ago. - MHooper_

_...What? No...oh God no.../Molly,/ I've lost him. - {unknown}_

_Sherlock... he's still your friend. - MHooper_

_Molly I-I fell for him. It took me a stupidly long time to realize it, but I did. And now I've lost him. He'll hate me if I come back now, even though now he's safe. - {unknown}_

_He won't hate you. Please...come back. -MHooper_

_I can try...how is it possible to do this?- {unknown}_

_You...you have to be happy for them. It hurts, I'm not going to lie, it hurts like Hell. But you have to try. I...I know how you feel. - MHooper_

_I know. You feel this way about me, don't you? -{unknown}_

_I...yes, Sherlock. I feel the same way about you. - MHooper_

_I often wondered. Sometimes I wish things could be simple and I could say I feel the same. But...John... -{unknown}_

_I know. You love him. I'm not going to try and change that; it wouldn't be right or fair. And love is never simple. - MHooper_

_No. It certainly isn't. I want to see him. But, I don't know if I can do it. -{unknown}_

_I can go with you, if you want. Moral support. Physical support, should you need it. -M_

_Perhaps. I can be at your place in one minute. -{unknown}_

_One minute? Sherlock...I thought you were across the world! - MHooper_

_No. That was yesterday. I finished my task. Moran is dead, and John is safe. The game is finally over. -{unknown}_

_Thank God. On both counts. - MHooper_

_Open the door. -{unknown}_

Molly swiftly rose and went to the door of her flat, flinging it open, breathless.

"Hello, Molly."

She stared at the tall detective in front of her; he looked gaunt and worn and horribly sad. "Hello, Sherlock. Come in..." He followed her into the small flat, shrugging off his coat.

"Thank you."

"So...now what...?" she asked softly. They were now alike, no strangers to heartbreak.

"I-I don't know." Sherlock felt empty, worn through and exhausted. He glanced at her, tears in his eyes. She saw the tears and heard something inside her crack, going to him and, as if she was afraid she'd break him at the slightest touch, gingerly put her arms around him. Sherlock broke down, sobbing as he wrapped his arms around Molly. He hadn't cried since he'd told John good-bye.

"Shhh...I've got you...I've got you," she whispered, rubbing his back. She didn't say empty words like "It's all right" because she knew it wasn't. _He _knew it wasn't. She had to fight back sobs of her own. It wasn't fair; this just wasn't fair to either of them. Sherlock let her hold him, her words just washing over him as he cried, cried real tears. His knees gave out and she caught him, sitting him down; he didn't let go, clutching tighter like she was a rock in the storm. He shook and sobbed, and she leaned into him, letting him cry. She continued to hold him when he sank to the floor...she wouldn't let go, even if the world were ending. Sherlock cried until there was nothing left, his body shaking with empty, dry sobs.

"I-I'm too late," he whispered. She looked him in the eyes.

"We both were," she said simply.

"How were you too late?"

Molly took a deep breath. "In my case, I was always too late. I...I tried, so hard. For you. And you never noticed. You never...cared. Not for me. Never for me," she said. She knew she sounded bitter, and she bit her tongue to stop. "I'm sorry, Sherlock," she said softly, resting a hand on his arm.

"It's fine. I kept everyone out. I saw but did not observe," he said bitterly. "Amusing how my own gift turned on me."

She had nothing to say to this, because really, what could she say? The man she loved was suffering from a broken heart, and she couldn't fix it.

"How can I make this stop," he whispered. "This pain in my chest...Molly I love him, I miss him, and he's moved on." She took another deep breath.

"You have to move on as well. He's happy. You can still be friends, though. And...it's hard. It is. And it hurts. It never really stops hurting, here," she said, placing a hand over his heart. "But it gets better with time. Or so I've been told."

The tears almost started again.

"But...but I don't want to move on. He's-he's the only one, Molly." She wanted to yell at him, 'How do you think _I_ feel? There's only you. There will only ever _be_ you,' but she couldn't. That wasn't what he needed...but what he did need is a wake-up call.

"Tough, Sherlock. You move on or you stay stagnant. Adapt or die, as the saying goes. And don't you DARE die," she said fiercely. She didn't lie to John for three years just for that lie to become the truth. Sherlock took a deep breath.

"Then take me to him, even if just for a moment. I need to tell him that I'm sorry."

She nodded and managed to lift him off the floor. They staggered and stumbled, both of them worn out by grief and disappointment, but eventually managed to make it to the door of the flat and out, en route to John's house. Sherlock didn't speak on the way there, trying to figure out what he would say to his friend. As Molly took him up to John's flat, he felt panic rising.

"He won't want to see me," he whispered, Molly holding his hand tightly.

"He will. But...don't expect a warm welcome. To him, you've been dead for three years," she whispered back. She rang the bell and could hear John and Mary's voices inside, happy and laughing. It stung, rubbing salt into a reopened wound. Sherlock fought panic and tears as the door opened and he saw his army doctor, his John. The detective froze, eyes wide, shaking. Molly squeezed Sherlock's hand. "Hello, John," she said softly. Sherlock's mouth wouldn't move. He couldn't seem to blink, his eyes fixed on John's, watching the laughter he'd just heard die and be replaced by shock and confusion and anger and, and-

"Hello, John," he managed.

Molly watched the happiness in John's eyes slowly die, replaced by confusion, shock, disbelief, anger. She saw him wind his fist back and was too late to stop the blow to Sherlock's jaw; the detective crumpled, and she had to catch him again.

"What. The. Fuck. Is. _This_?" John said, each word carefully controlled but furious. He glared at Molly. "Is this your sick idea of a joke?" he demanded of her. She looked up at him.

"It isn't a joke, John! It's really Sherlock," she said, pleading with her eyes for him to believe her. Sherlock saw stars as the blow landed, crumpling into Molly's arms for the second time that hour. He was unaware of the tears as he looked back up at John, massaging his jaw.

"I'm so sorry," he murmured. "It really is me, John. I'm-I'm not dead." His voice broke on the last word as he used Molly to help him stand again. John was still angry, but it faded slightly. "Oh my God...you're alive..." he whispered. He stared at both of them before he wrapped his arms around Sherlock. "You fucking git, you're alive...!" he said, tears clogging his voice. "How...?"

Molly spoke up. "I helped him fake his death..." she said, trailing off. She felt horribly isolated; this was a scene where she wasn't wanted, wasn't needed. Again. Sherlock squeezed her hand before letting go, burying his face in John's shoulder, still crying silently.

"Don't be mad at Molly," he said, voice thick with tears. "The only way to-to keep you safe was for you to-to think I was-I was..." He couldn't finish, hugging tighter.

"Moriarty had three snipers; one on Lestrade, one on Mrs. Hudson, and one on you. He...he had to, or else all three of you would have been..." Molly swallowed hard. Three snipers, three bullets, three people she loved. Sherlock held tighter to John, breathing deep, memorizing his smell.

"I came back after making sure you were safe, making sure none of Moriarty's men could hurt you...I'm sorry it took so long." John clung to him for another moment before a woman's voice called to him from inside.

"I have to get back to Mary...she's my wife," he said, smiling up at his best friend, not knowing the damage he was causing. "I'll tell her about you, and then you can meet her...once I have the chance to wrap my brain around this," he said, chuckling slightly. Molly smiled weakly at him.

"Give her my best," she said, and John started. He had forgotten she was there for a moment.

"Yeah, will do, Molls. Thank you, for everything," he said to her, sincerely. She gave a strained smile and nodded as John closed the door, leaving them in the cold.

Sherlock stood there, trembling before leaning against the wall and sliding down to the floor. He didn't think it was possible to cry anymore, but the tears just wouldn't stop.

"I-I'm br-broken," he sobbed, wrapping his arms around his knees. He didn't think he could keep going, not like this. Three years of knowing he had John to come back to, three years of hope shattered in a few seconds, his world tumbling down around his ears. Molly lifted him to his feet.

"Come on, let's get you home," she said softly, walking him back to the cab. The journey back to her flat was horrible; Sherlock was still sobbing brokenly, and she felt hollowed out and dead. "'Lord, what fools these mortals be,'" she murmured. The line from "A Midsummer Night's Dream" popped into her head and struck her as sharply befitting. Sherlock chuckled darkly.

"'And by a sleep to say we end the heartache and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to. 'Tis a consummation devoutly to be wished,'" he quoted back. Hamlet, of course. She looked at him.

"Don't you dare even think about that," she said, quietly but with bite. She knew the subtext of that monologue all too well; the last thing she wanted was for him to commit suicide. He glanced at her.

"'Love is blind.'" Fine, he could put on a brave face for her.

"Thus conscience does make cowards of us all," she quoted back. Her flat was finally in view and their walk back up to it was silent and strained. She had no idea what to do from here.

"I don't know what to do, Molly," he murmured as she let them back into her flat. "'Nymph, in thy orisons be all my sins remembered.'" She closed the door behind her and went over to him, taking him in her arms again.

"Neither do I," she admitted softly. He rested his head on hers as she stroked his back. "You've been kinder than I deserve, Molly Hooper." She sighed.

"And I'm afraid I only have so much to give," she said. "I...I'm far from adequate." Sherlock pulled back, tilting her head up to look at him.

"You are brilliant," he said. "You helped me to disappear, you just helped me come back, and I owe you so much." She moved her face away. It hurt to look at him. She still loved him, and she knew he didn't (_couldn't/wouldn't/would never_) love her back. She rested her head on his chest to hide her tears. The sting was still there, buried deep; it never went away, not really. He kissed the top of her head, genuine affection for her spilling through as he led her over to the sofa. They sat and he held her now, rocking her gently as she sobbed.

"I'm sorry..." she keened through her weeping. She grieved, loud and long. It wasn't fair. It wasn't FAIR. It hurt, it hurt so bad and so much.

"Don't apologize," Sherlock whispered, kissing her hair again, going with what instincts seemed to be presenting themselves. He rubbed her back, just existing for her, aware of the pain his presence caused.

Finally, when her tears had slowed to occasional whimpers and sniffles, she pulled back.

"I'm sorry," she whispered again, her voice hoarse. She knew she looked like hell, her eyes puffy and red, her hair mussed. She kept one hand fisted in the fabric of his shirt, like she was loath to let go.

"I said don't apologize," he whispered, taken aback by her raw energy and beauty; two broken souls trying to find their way. He stroked her hair away from her face gently. She shivered at his touch and resisted the urge to lean into it. She was tired now, so damnably tired.

"How fragile we are," she said, almost to herself. Sherlock wiped away her tears with his thumb, laughing softly.

"Shattered glass, the pair of us" Half out of instinct, she turned her face into his palm and pressed a kiss there. She froze; she shouldn't have done that. She'd ruined everything now..._damndamnDAMN_.

"Shattered glass," she choked back. Sherlock smiled.

"That was-nice," he whispered.

She looked at him. Trance-like, she took his hand and brought it to her lips, kissing each fingertip before she placed it on her left breast. This wasn't a sexual gesture; she let him feel her heartbeat. She let him feel the soft thudding that occurred under her skin, and she wondered why it hadn't stopped yet. His breath caught in his throat, the touches so gentle and caring. He hadn't touched anyone except in hate in three years, but this-this was different. Her heartbeat was strong, pounding out a slightly erratic rhythm. Curious. He watched her eyes, stroking her chest with his thumb, almost unconsciously, feeling and hearing her breath hitch as he moved his thumb across her skin, brushing from the top of her breast to her sternum. She fought back a flare of want. This wasn't the time nor the place, and it was unwelcome as she so keenly knew. Sherlock noticed everything, knowing what would happen, how it would hurt them both but not caring about the consequences. He leaned in, brushing his lips against her cheek, an echo of the same kiss three years before at Christmas.

"You are beautiful, Molly Hooper," he whispered. "And I'm sorry that I've hurt you." She could feel her heartbeat stutter, and she had to clench her hand into a fist to fight crying again. Damn him and his words and his apologies. She took a deep breath.

"I forgive you," she said, lifting her other hand to his face and caressing his cheek. He closed his eyes, leaning into her touch.

"I don't deserve it," he said quietly, "but thank you anyway." He opened his eyes and stared at her, their faces inches apart. Molly's brain shorted out and she forgot to think, she only felt. She closed the distance and pressed her mouth to his in a kiss. He stopped breathing before tentatively pressing back, his hand coming back up to hold her face. Her breath left her in a rush, and she moved the hand on his face to wind through his hair. She could hardly believe this was happening, and she wondered when she was going to wake up. Sherlock moaned softly as she tugged on his hair, cupping her face in both hands as he kissed her, learning quickly as he went.

The noise he made shot straight down her spine to rest in her lower belly. If his hand were still on her heart, he would have felt it speed up like an engine. She gently nipped his lower lip and soothed the small hurt with a quick swipe of her tongue. He gasped.

"Do that again." She complied eagerly. He moaned again, kissing her harder. Sherlock could feel her heartbeat in her lips as he gently slipped his tongue inside her mouth, curious. Molly made a noise in the back of her throat as Sherlock's tongue twined with hers. He tasted like cigarettes and rain and mint. She arched her body into his, and he pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her back, finally pulling her onto his lap as he continued to kiss her. She smelt of flowers, of lavender and roses. She tasted of tears. She was vaguely aware that she was now straddling his lap and that his arms were around her back. Her hands were in his hair then moving down the back of his neck to dig her nails slightly into his shoulders and back. This was all she ever wanted, and it was bittersweet.

"Molly," he finally gasped, breaking the kiss because he couldn't breathe, eyes half-closed as he looked down at her. "I-I want-" he hesitated, watching her carefully. "I think I want-more..."

She looked at him, his head tilted back, eyes half-lidded, pupils blown out almost all the way. and he said those words, those words that she thrilled to hear: _I want more._ She nodded and lowered her hands to the hem of her shirt and lifted it up and off, tossing it behind her. He watched, curious, observant as always, shrugging out of his coat and undoing the buttons on his shirt, finally slipping that off too, feeling self-conscious for the first time in his life. She reached out a hand and ran it from his collarbone to his sternum and back up before she unhooked her bra and flung it aside as well. She had to fight to keep herself from crossing her arms over her now-bare chest.

He shivered slightly at her touch, unblinking as she removed her bra. He reached out a hand and traced a finger around her left breast, feeling her heartbeat jump. His lips twitched in a smile. She gasped as he touched her, biting her lip. She leaned down and placed a trail of kisses from his shoulder to the hollow of his throat, marking the last with a quick bite. Her lips were like fire on his skin, her teeth like ice. He brought one hand to the back of her head, holding her in place as she kissed and nipped his throat, eyes fluttering shut. She vaguely felt his hand holding her in place and bit a little harder. Her hands started descending but stop, hesitating at the waistband of his trousers, tracing it lightly like there was a barrier that stopped her from going any lower.

He pulled her away from his neck slowly, breathing heavily.

"I'm new at this," he murmured, tucking her hair behind her ear. "Do-do you want to move or-or stay here?" She looked at him, knowing that her eyes must look almost black because of how wide her pupils were. She got off of him and gently took him by the hand, leading him to the bedroom.

"Come..." she said softly, watching him, studying him. He followed silently, standing awkwardly by her bed as she shut the door. The sun was setting, casting a warm, golden rose light into the room. Sherlock could feel his trousers constrict as he watched her, her hair falling in waves down her back as she pulled out her hair tie. Molly shook her hair out, letting it fall loose around her. She undid her own trousers and slid them off her legs, kicking them aside, now clad in only her knickers. She walked over to where Sherlock was standing and embraced him, pressing the bare skin of her torso into his. A thrill went through her as she felt a bulge in the front of his own pants, and she couldn't resist the temptation to rock into it, gently.

Sherlock gasped, the friction of his jeans and boxers stimulating every nerve ending there. "Molly," he whispered and leaned down to kiss her again, undoing his trousers and dropping them before pulling her close in an embrace, holding her tight as they snogged.

They were left in only their underwear; Sherlock holding her tightly to him and kissing her breathless. In between kisses, she moved her hand to cup his manhood, surprising herself with her own boldness. Sherlock moaned, her fingers hot, everything marvelously intriguing.

"I'm ready," he whispered. She nods and slid both his and her underwear off before she sat on the bed. She lay back, opening to him, guiding him to where he wanted to be...where he needed to be. Sherlock hovered over her, straddling her hips, biting his lip as he looked down at her. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," she breathed and rocked up to encourage him.

He shifted slightly and slowly entered her, gasping and moaning, shutting his eyes.

"Oh...oh my god..." She felt like she couldn't get enough air into her lungs as he slid into her.

"Ah...yes..." she gasped, taking him all the way in. Sherlock forced his eyes open, looking down into hers, rocking against her gently, getting the feel of it, leaning in to kiss her. She kissed him as he rocked gently, but she needed _more_. She picked up the pace. She wasn't a china doll, and she NEEDED him. Taking his cue, Sherlock began thrusting harder, learning, tweaking as he went, his thoughts about no longer being a virgin flying from his head as he heard her moan his name.

"Sher-Sherlock...! Nnh..." She linked her ankles around his hips and drove him home, losing her breath as he bottomed out, in her all the way to the hilt. She was tight in every sense of the word, including her tight grip around his hips, more courageous and determined than he'd ever seen her.

"Beautiful," he panted, really going at it now. She keened as he started going harder and faster, building her up to that peak, winding the coil in her lower belly ever tighter. She knew she wasn't going to last much longer before she fell off the edge.

Her voice, her feel, her smell, Sherlock could feel something new, a fire in his gut, burning him as he went faster, stealing his breath until he was almost dizzy. It only took a few more thrusts from him and she broke; she shattered beautifully, coming with a cry of his name, her careful rhythm dissolving into a frenzied bucking of her hips. Sherlock's vision narrowed and he saw stars, screaming Molly's name as he came, his rhythm erratic and unpredictable before he collapsed on her in a tangle of arms and legs, barely able to breathe.

She came back slowly, gasping, to the real world, her vision fading from white back to the colors of the sunset that dyed her room, her limbs tangled with Sherlock's. He was still buried inside her, and she could feel both of them twitching with the aftershocks of their thunderous pleasure. He was aware of her breathing and heartbeat as they returned closer to normal, but he couldn't move yet, the release of 38 years of tension and anxiety more than he knew what to do with, his muscles stubbornly liquid. She held him close to her, feeling their sweat drying on their skin, and she let the three words she had never dared say to him before slip from her pleasure-fogged brain.

"I love you," she whispered.

He heard them but couldn't respond, his tongue thick in his mouth. He kissed her gently as he regained movement of his head, his body finally starting to collect itself. He finally managed to pull out and move just to the side, laying on his side and looking at her. She turned to face him and felt his essence begin to leak out of her. She didn't repeat the words; she felt as if it would cheapen them, and she didn't know if anything had changed. _Stupid Molly...of course things had changed. EVERYTHING had changed._

He stayed silent for several moments, his brain restarting as he read her face, her eyes.

"We're not the same as we were before," he finally whispered, breaking his silence. "Everything is-different." He blinked, exhaustion sweeping through him as he re-examined his thoughts and, more surprisingly, his feelings. "I-I truly, deeply care for you, Molly, I just don't know yet if it's love." He felt so sad. "I think that's the best I can do for now." He looked so tired; and she felt it too.

"I understand," she said softly, and she did. Even if he didn't love her, even if he _couldn't_ love her, she would have this moment and this memory. It would be enough. She moved closer to him and rested her head on his clavicle and wound her arms around him; partially for the warmth, partially for the need to be near him, touching him. He took her in his arms, a single tear falling from his eye. Sherlock rested his head on hers, sighing deeply, suddenly freezing cold, the heat of the moment suddenly gone and Molly's lovely warmth not quite enough.

"I'm cold," he said quietly. She nodded and drew the blankets over them, huddling into him. She could feel the chill as well; she wiped the tear from his face and held him tightly, as tight as she could manage.

"Thank you." He held onto her tighter, trying to hold himself together as much as her, still feeling like a piece of shattered glass in the setting sun.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Gunpowder and Gasoline

Molly stirred as she woke; something was...different.

Sherlock felt her move before he completely came around, brain confused and lost until he recognized the scent of lavender and roses. Molly's brain was still muddled and couldn't quite pick out EXACTLY what was different until she felt movement beside her and the limbs draped over her body. Then EVERYTHING came roaring back to her: the previous night, Sherlock's return, going to see John...her and Sherlock making love... Sherlock's eyes snapped open to see Molly staring at him. He saw fear there...and what he thought was love. "Morning," he murmured sleepily.

Her breath caught in her throat. "Morning," Molly replied. Her brain was going at a thousand miles per second; he had told her that he loved John, but here they were. He was _here_, with _her_. She was waiting for him to get up and get dressed, to walk out and never darken her doorstep again, to say that it was a mistake, that it was wrong, that she took advantage of him. He brushed a lock of hair back from her face, twirling it around his finger before tucking it behind her ear. "That wasn't a dream, was it? Last night?"

She moved and felt her inner muscles twinge. "No, it wasn't," she said, slightly in awe. It really wasn't a dream. He was here, and he was...she wasn't going to say 'happy', because neither of them truly was. He had just had his heart broken, and she was dealing with the aftermath of hers being shattered to dust. He saw her wince, concern furrowing his brow. "Are you-are you all right?" Not emotionally, neither of them was all right that way.

She nodded, smiling at his concern. "Just a little sore; it's been...a while," she said.

"Ah, of course," he said. He leaned in and gently kissed her for a moment before pulling back. "Thank you."

She stared at him, searching his face. "For what, exactly?" she asked, reaching out and tracing absent-minded patterns on the skin of his shoulder with her fingertips. He shivered slightly at the touch, at the gentility of it. "You're wonderful, Molly. I really don't deserve all the love you've given me."

Her heart jumped to her throat and she could feel herself blushing. _Really? You're blushing _now_, after you fucked him? _she thought. She gave him a wan smile. "You do. You really do, Sherlock," she said.

He smiled slightly as her cheeks bloomed pink, shaking his head sadly. "I've done-I've done terrible things in my life, I've driven everyone away: my father, my brother..." he didn't say John's name but it was implied. "Yet somehow, you're still here."

She could hear the implication in his voice. _John_. She moved closer to him, so the line of their bodies from chest to knee were touching. "I'm stubborn; that's what my mum always told me," she mused. "And, well, I tend to get stuck on people. I'm stuck on you. I'll...I'll always be here for you, should you need me. Should you want me," she said. There was that sting of doubt again...she knew that he didn't love her, _couldn't ever love you_ her mind whispered. She knew that even if he did, she'd be a pale substitute for John. But...she could live with that. _Better a broken heart than no heart at all..._

He rubbed her back as she scooted closer, eyes unfocused until he managed to push John from his mind, his heart twisting and aching. "I'm stubborn as well," he mused, half to himself. "I don't know if I can make the same promise, Molly, but I could try-can try." His eyes landed on hers and, god he could see how much this hurt her, lying with the man she loved but who did not love her back. _The pain is so clear there_, he thought.

She sighed, her breath ghosting over his skin. "I know. I know you can't. But...I'll...I'll be here," she said quietly, swallowing hard. She swore she must either be the world's biggest masochist or something was wrong with her head. Pulling her closer, Sherlock kissed her, slowly, still slightly sleepy, searching for the connection he'd felt the night before, that feeling of not being alone in the world. He wanted to be able to love her, or at the very least to return everything she'd given him.

She felt her heart ache and her throat grow tight as she held on to him for dear life. She placed a hand on his chest, feeling his heart beat. He whimpered softly, wishing she could just take his heart and save him the pain, that she could glue him back together. Sherlock's long, pale fingers framed her face as they kissed, and as he felt her other arm on his side, he was suddenly ashamed of how emaciated he was, how much he'd let himself waste away. Molly could feel how those three long years abroad had changed him and made him a shadow of who he once was. She broke the kiss and looked him straight in the eyes. "You're beautiful..." she said. A kiss, and break. "I love you..." she whispered. A kiss -_pain, pain!_- and break. "I'm here," she said. A kiss -Truth; she prayed he could taste it on her tongue- and break.

He felt his face heat, the warmth trailing through his body. He was not beautiful, not really, but she loved him; somehow, inexplicably, she loved him, and she was here for him right now. He kissed back harder, trying to drink the love and truth from her lips, to try to really believe it, to shut up the doubts in his mind. He kissed her breathless, fanning the want that was present. She wanted so much for him to believe her; she wished there were some way for her to take what she was feeling and place it in his mind, in his heart, to let him know that she was no liar.

Then it clicked; it all clicked as she pressed her hand against his heart, rubbing the skin gently. He broke the kiss with a gasp, realization in his eyes. "You love me," he whispered, true understanding of the meaning in his gaze. "You really think I'm worth your love."

Her own heart fluttered; there was hope...a small, weak hope, but it was there. "Yes," she said, pouring as much feeling into that one word as she can. "_Yes_."

And he smiled, thoughts of John stowed away in his mind palace, too painful to face for now, his love for the doctor still there but left to fade over time, for now at least. "I never-it was never-this was never something I could entertain or understand, could believe would happen."

The hope grew stronger as he smiled. She kissed him fiercely, feeling as if she were on fire, like he'd set a match to gunpowder and gasoline. He matched her, kiss for kiss, touch for touch, pulling her on top of him as their tongues danced, his hands tangled in her long hair. She arched into him. They tasted of each other, and she could feel something primal in the back of her mind purring, pleased with itself. He broke the kiss, resting his forehead against hers, breathing shakily. "Molly," he whispered, stroking her cheek, his mind and heart a jumble of too many things to deduce and name.

"Sherlock," she whispered back, moving her fingers through his hair. She felt somewhat like a kaleidoscope: a mess of brightly-colored pieces that refracted and changed and shifted with a turn of the wheel.

He nuzzled her arm, her fingers gentle yet firm in his hair. "I care, I truly care about you. I can feel that now."

Her heart stuttered and faltered and her breath caught. She looked into his eyes; those blue eyes that could flay a scene to pieces and put it back together with the 'how' and the 'why'. She smiled, slowly. "And you know I care about you," she said before she bent her head to his and pressed a gentle kiss to his mouth. He accepted it, the sensation overwhelming, shutting down his brain until there was only feeling. He felt her rock against him and he pressed back up to her, trying to hold her as close as he could.

He clutched her tighter and she felt like she wanted to devour him, to keep him there forever. He pressed back up and brushed against her, there, and she let out a quick breath. He wasn't even inside her and she felt like she was nearly undone. He felt the heat there, making him hard, hard for _her_. He rocked more, striving for touch, for friction, kissing her like it was air.

She broke the kiss and sat up, feeling him hard and wanting. She raised herself and then slid down on to him, her eyes rolling back into her head as he filled her. Once he was all the way seated inside of her, she looked down at him, panting. His neck arched back, pressing his head into the pillows, his brow furrowed slightly as she took him in. "Oh my god," he breathed, unable to open his eyes.

She watched him and felt a shiver run its way up and down her spine. She began to move her hips, slowly at first, then picking up speed, rocking him to the beat of her heart. He groaned, neck taught, hands coming up to her hips as she moved against him. "Molly-oh dear god-_Molly_..."

She let out a breath as he groaned her name, guiding her hips with his hands. She clenched herself around him, throwing her head back, exposing the long line of her throat. "Ah..._Sherlock_...!" she gasped.

His eyes snapped open, and he pulled her down, pressing his lips to her neck, kissing and sucking as he rocked back, thrusting harder. She fisted her hands into the cloth of the sheets, keeping the pace and feeling desperate, feeling hopeful, just _feeling_. His breathing grew ragged, growling low in his throat as he kissed up to her mouth, rolling them over so that he pinned her beneath him.

All of a sudden she was under him and he was growling and the sound ricocheted through her. She linked her ankles around his hips and _pulled_, needing all of him. His kiss to her mouth swallowed up her little cries as he pounded into her, and she knew she was close. Her taste, her feel, her sounds, everything about her was driving him mad and he couldn't fathom why, even more so when she locked herself around him, driving him on, pulling him to the brink. He could feel the lava pooling in his stomach again, vaguely aware of what was coming next.

Then, like glass, Molly shattered, rippling around him, brokenly calling his name as she crested and flew off the edge of the precipice. She sank her teeth into his shoulder to muffle herself as she bucked frantically. Her teeth in his neck sent him howling, his vision tunneling once more until he couldn't see anything, guided completely by sense and feel, whimpering her name until he reached the aftershocks, relaxing and panting like he'd just run a marathon.

She could feel her heart galloping as he rested on top of her, their sweat mingling. She breathed hard, like she'd been underwater. And in a sense, she was drowning in him, in his taste and his touch, in the way he cried her name, in the way he shuddered against her as he came. A ghost of a smile came to Molly's face, and she held him as their hearts and breathing calm slowly.

Sherlock lowered himself next to her once more, resting his hand on her heart, taking in her pulse and feeling her shiver. _I did that_, he thought, reveling at it. He didn't open his eyes yet, trying to regain his composure and his mental faculties for a few seconds before giving up, allowing the flood of endorphins and oxytocin to take over and rule. She traced a finger over his chest, feeling his own heart pound as well, and she had to wonder if he knew how she felt now. They stayed that way for a long time, hands over hearts, the light in the room growing stronger as the minutes pass.

Finally, Sherlock opened his eyes, allowing the light in the room to restore his vision. "You love me." It wasn't a question, and while he knew he didn't sound happy, he did have concern and care in his voice; he was worried what it would do to her to love him, to want him when he felt as if his heart no longer existed, shattered beyond repair.

"I love you," she repeated, determined to be there to pick up the pieces of his heart and put them back together, one at a time. She would wait...forever, if she had to.

"I know."

She breathed deeply. "And now where does that leave us?" she asked quietly, not knowing the answer herself. They were taking comfort in each other, in their bodies and in their minds and maybe in their hearts as well, but at the end of the day, they were both still lost. The blind leading the blind.

"The sad, broken detective and the loving pathologist," he murmured, fingertips caressing her cheek. "Two shattered individuals trying to pick up the pieces, I suppose."

She laughed, or sobbed; she couldn't tell which any more. After a moment of just laying there, letting him touch her, she sat up. "I need to shower," she said softly. She could feel him leaking out of her, running down her thighs and staining the sheets, and as much as she loved smelling of him, she was desperate to wash her hair and face, feeling her eyes swollen from all the crying she had done in the past 24 hours. He nodded, pulling his hand back. "I'll take the next one," he said, rolling onto his back, staring at the ceiling.

She nodded and left him. The hot water soothed her roiling mind and aching muscles, the steam clouding her thoughts as it did the small mirror. She washed herself and finished as quickly as she could so he could have hot water as well, wrapping a towel around her and letting her hair drip-dry. She wandered back into the bedroom, almost afraid that she'd find him gone. He was still there, unmoving, but he rose as she returned, heading to the shower himself. The water was soothing, washing away the grime and muck of travel and loss, and Sherlock stayed in the shower until the spray turned ice cold. He shut it off and took the spare towel, drying his body before returning to her room.

Molly was sitting on the bed and staring out the window, her towel gone and a pair of clean knickers in her hand. She was lost in thought and didn't even hear him come in. Her mind was moving over the events like she was reading Braille, touching each one, feeling the nicks and bumps that explained (or tried to) what exactly had happened.

"Hello," he said, startling her. "Sorry," he added hurriedly. "Didn't mean to frighten you."

She gasped and started as he spoke, a hand flying up to her chest. She flushed as she realized that she was naked and internally scolded herself again. _Now you've fucked twice. Stop being embarrassed!_ She smiled at him. "Just startled me a little, that's all," she said as she rose and slid on her underwear before searching for her bra. She realized that it was in the living room, where she had thrown it the night before. It was draped over a bowl of fake fruit that rested on her coffee table, and she had to laugh a little at the picture it painted.

He followed her silently, observing things he hadn't noticed before: the slight sway of her hips, her girlish laugh that was in many ways endearing, the flush that bloomed across her features every time he caught her off guard. "I left my things back with Mycroft," he finally said as she pulled on a blouse and skirt. "Do you mind if I have him drop them off?"

Molly blinked a bit. Did...did he want to live with her? She looked at him for a moment. "Ah... yes, Mycroft can have your things dropped off here," she said slowly.

He fished in the pocket of his coat for his phone, shooting off a text that received an almost instant reply. "Prat," he grumbled, "Already on his way...saves time, though."

She had to smile at his grumbling. She fiddled with the hem of her blouse and wondered why he wanted to live with her? Wasn't he going to go back to 221B Baker Street? True, John no longer lived there so he'd be on his own, but...all of the questions whirled around her head and made it hard to think on a specific one. He glanced up at her. "I can't go back there, not yet." He swallowed, forcing the thoughts back into his mind palace. "And I really don't have anything to wear right now. At least until I figure out what I'm doing, do you mind if I stay here?"

She looked at him and felt her heart do...something. "You can stay here as long as you need," she said softly, giving him a small smile.

"Thank you-" he started before turning to the knock at her door. "Mycroft," he grumbled, going to answer it in his towel. Her eyes widened. "Wait!" she said loudly, running after him. She brought an old dressing gown of her father's (she kept it for sentiment) and threw it around his shoulders, quickly belting it shut and giving him some decent coverage. She breathed a quick sigh of relief as he became more presentable. He felt his face flush. "Thanks," before opening the door, reaching a hand out for his bag. "Thank you, Mycroft."

The elder Holmes child merely stared at his formerly absent little brother. "Good to see you back, Sherlock," he said brusquely, keeping the bag in his hand and stepping over the threshold of Molly's apartment. He cast his eyes about, taking everything in, noting the shirt that was crumpled in the corner, the coat still tossed over the couch. He raised an eyebrow. "Well." he said, not continuing with anything else. What's implied though, is the thought: _Slumming, aren't you, brother dear?_

"Shut up, Mycroft," Sherlock growled, hand still outstretched. "You've brought what I asked for, so give it here and go. I'm not one for the sentimental reunion, you know that." The last part was hissed through clenched teeth, the anger easy when directed at Mycroft instead of John.

Mycroft nodded and handed over the bag before turning his attention over to Molly, who had been standing there, ignored. "Miss Hooper, thank you for looking after my brother. Should you tire of his company, give me a call, and I'll have some of my people come to collect him," he drawled, before he swept out of the flat and shut the door behind him with a resounding click. She glared at the closed door, her cheeks pink with anger and embarrassment. "What an arse," she muttered under her breath.

Sherlock chuckled darkly. "Always was, even as a boy." He headed to the bathroom, stripping off the robe and towel and pulling on a pair of black trousers and a purple shirt, letting the fabric hug and comfort him. When Sherlock left the bathroom, Molly had to suppress a groan and force herself to keep her jaw closed. He was wearing that shirt that he wore all those years ago in the morgue, the one that made her knees go weak and her head grow foggy, especially when she saw him working with that riding crop. She took a quick, steadying breath and let it out, carefully schooling her face into a neutral expression...or trying to, at least.

Sherlock felt his lips twitch. "Like something you see?" he asked, working towards being present and here, not dwelling in the past. She swallowed hard and nodded, not trusting her voice to stay steady. She turned and started fussing with the clothes that they had thrown around the previous evening. _You have to remember; he's getting over having his heart broken. You made love twice, that doesn't mean you can force your affection on him like this. Keep your distance if you can_, she thought.

He went to help her, bumping awkwardly, muttering "Sorry" a few times before managing to gather up his things. "Where would you like me to sleep?"

"You can take the bed...the sofa out here is comfortable. I don't mind using that," she said, keeping her tone carefully neutral.

"That's ridiculous. I'm not going to put you out of your bed when I'm the guest. I'll take the sofa."

She looked at the piece of furniture and back to him. "Yes, but you're too tall for it," she pointed out. If Sherlock were to lay down, full length, on the piece of furniture in question, his legs would hang off the end. Molly was considerably shorter than him and could fit quite nicely on it.

"We'll just share then. I don't mind. It-it seemed to stave off the nightmares last night." He fiddled with the hem of his coat as he said this, nervous of what will happen if he looked at her. She whipped her head up to look at him. Nightmares? Of course he would have nightmares; he was in different places for three years solid, hunting dangerous criminals, being hunted himself. Oh, Sherlock... "That's fine with me," she said.

"Good." He turned and headed back there, placing his things in the corner, glancing at the bed. God, they'd made a mess. He began to strip the sheets, determined to wash them for her.

"Ah! I-I can do that," she said, feeling flustered. The sheets were stained, and the room reeked of sex. She squirmed a little; truth be told, she could get used to that. Her mind brought her to a screaming halt. _NO. Stop it, Molly, stop it. Remember. You're picking up the pieces; nothing more._

He glanced up. "You keep panicking," he observed softly. "Have I done something wrong?"

She jumped. "No! No, it's not you," she said, caught off guard. She had forgotten just how observant he was; she would have to be more careful.

"Then what? I think it's partly me, you usually are looking at me when it happens"

"It really isn't you...I just have to...to keep reminding myself that you're here," she said. It's a half-truth.

He raised an eyebrow but lets it drop, filling in the rest for himself. "I'm sorry if my being here is difficult for you. Don't hesitate to tell me off, Molly."

She looked at him, her eyes sad. "It really isn't you," she said again. "But I'll keep that in mind."

He stopped, walking over to her. "Why do you look so sad?" He could see signs on her face and in her posture, but he'd rather hear it from her. He was trying so hard to be considerate. She opened her mouth to speak, but no sounds came out. She breathed and tried again. "I have to keep reminding myself not to be selfish. It'll just hurt you more...hurt us both more, in the long run," she said quietly.

"Selfish?"

She closed her eyes and clenched her hands, driving her fingernails deep into the flesh of her palms. "I...I want you to stay here. I want you to be happy. I want to _make_ you happy. I want you to want me. I know you don't, I know you...you can't. And me wanting...wanting this...it's not fair. To either of us," she said. She couldn't look at him right now. If she did, she was sure she'd start crying. He took her in his arms, just standing there and holding her. "I have to learn all over again, Molly. And it's not fair to you to deny yourself, not when I can help, not when I can be here."

Oh. He was being _kind_. And it hurt. She didn't say anything...she just stood there and rested her head on his chest, breathing slowly.

"I don't know if it's that I want you or that you're a substitute, I hope it isn't the latter, I don't think it is as I've gotten-_hard_-for you twice now. There's something there, Molly, I just-I just don't know what it is," he whispered into her hair.

She felt that fragile hope stir and flutter in her chest again. "All right," she replied softly. She slowly moved her arms around him, pressing her palms to his shoulder blades, resting her ear against his chest. She could hear the steady beat of his heart, and she closed her eyes. This...this could be enough. Sherlock smiled, standing there and holding the pathologist, the girl with hope. "Beautiful," he whispered. She took a deep breath, inhaling his scent, before letting it out in a rush. Molly allowed herself to smile as well, half-hearing his endearment. She held him tighter, as if she could dissolve into him. Slowly he started to sway, humming softly against her head.

She nearly started. This is...new. And odd. But nice. She could feel the vibration of his voice against her skull, and it tickled slightly. She moved with him, reminding herself of how they moved together last night and this morning. He tried hard to remember music he'd heard in passing, his brain filtering through the snatches of tunes on the radio he's heard, his deep baritone sliding through melodies like water.

She heard a tune she recognized in the midst of his vocal shuffling; a song that her mother would sing her when she was little. She added her voice to his, singing the words. "Once there was a way to get back homeward...once there was a way to get back home. Sleep, little darling, do not cry, and I will sing a lullaby..." (1)

"Boy, you're gonna carry that weight, carry that weight a long time" Sherlock added, surprising himself, the words coming from nowhere. _We sound good together,_ he thought absently. (2)

Molly couldn't remember the rest of the words...only the ending, so she skipped to it. "And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make," she sang softly, the tune reverberating through her chest. Sherlock sniffed, eyes pricking again. _Damn it_. "The love you make," he echoed back. (3)

She turned her head and placed a kiss to his chest, saying nothing. She just held him and let him hold her. _He has a beautiful voice...it fits so well with the rest of him_. The thought drifted through her head like an untethered balloon. He started singing again, unexpected solace in the activity. "The sun is up, the sky is blue, it's beautiful and so are you," pitching it so it fit comfortably in his voice. She smiled and sang back. "The wind is low, the birds will sing that you are part of everything." (4)

Sherlock pulled away so he could look at her, brain churning as it found the next song. "Is there anybody going to listen to my story-"

Molly twisted the lyrics a bit to fit them both: "-All about the boy who came to stay. He's the kind of boy you want so much it makes you sorry...still you don't regret a single day..." (5)

Sherlock felt a single tear escape his eye. "You are so kind to me, so loving and caring," he murmured, and he leaned down to kiss her forehead, kissing her nose instead as she tilted her face up to meet him. She wiped the tear from his face and wrinkled her nose a bit after he kissed it. She stretched up and pressed gentle kisses to his forehead and both his closed eyes, cupping his face with her hands. He leaned into her touch, her lips so soft. "That-that's really nice."

She smiled at him and rubbed her thumbs across his cheekbones, resting her forehead against his. This feeling was so...vast, so hard to encompass with words, so she stayed quiet. It was a comfortable silence, broken only by the sound of their breathing. He nuzzled her fingers, kissing them gently, trying to sort out his head and heart, one vastly confused and the other surprisingly full. The earlier doubts and fear and sadness that she felt had ebbed somewhat; they still lurked, but for now...this was enough. For now, this was all she needed.

Sherlock's stomach growled. Very loudly. Startled, he looked down, confused for a moment before he realized what it was. "You wouldn't happen to have any food, would you?"

She looked up at him and she couldn't help it...she _laughed_. She laughed so hard she doubled over, gasping for air. When she finally straightened and got a hold of her mirth, she grinned at him. "Yeah...let's see what we can get you," she said. Molly went out to the fridge and rummaged around, finding things that he might want and setting them on the counter: beans, salad, leftover takeout, eggs, bread for toast, chicken...various bits and pieces. He reached for the takeout. "This'll be fine."

"All right. I'm going to follow suit," she said, taking a piece of fruit, a bright red apple, from the crisper drawer and putting the discarded items back. She gave him a fork before walking over to the sink and washing her apple before leaning against the counter and sinking her teeth into it, breaking the skin. He dug into the leftover lo mein, soon distracted as Molly began to eat the apple. It was then that something in his brain clicked again, much as it had that morning. He _did_ more than care but he couldn't figure out why or how.

She took a particularly good bite and made a noise of surprise as juice ran down her chin, which she carefully wiped off with her fingers before popping them into her mouth to clean them. She happened to glance over at Sherlock and she flushed; she had forgotten he was there for a bit. _Oh god... he must think I'm a complete slob now..._ she lamented in her head. Sherlock forced himself to keep eating, unable to stop staring at her mouth, at the apple, her fingers...oh God, _what was happening _to him? She finished before he did, tossing the apple core into the trash. "Want anything to drink? Tea, coffee, water...?" she asked as she wandered over to the cabinet and stretched up to fetch a glass.

"Water," he managed, swallowing as his brain went to war with his heart. She stretched up a little more, her blouse lifting slightly to show some skin above the waist of her skirt. Glass in hand, she smiled triumphantly and got water for the both of them, placing his on the counter in front of him. She held hers, taking small sips and watching him surreptitiously over the rim of it. He hadn't blinked in several minutes, moving out of habit as opposed to consciously, eyes taking in every aspect of her, every detail, John almost gone from his mind, the pain from that so numb that he forgot it, the heat of this moment overwhelming his sharp mind.

The intensity of his gaze was slightly unnerving. "What? Do I have something on my face?" she asked, tilting her head to one side, brushing her fingers over the surface of her skin to see if there was some dirt or bit of food stuck to her. That final motion snapped him out of his reverie, his trance. "Molly," Sherlock whispered, almost a gasp. "You-you don't know what you're doing to me."

"Oh...I'm...I'm sorry," she said, biting her lower lip and flushing, looking at her still-bare feet. She turned away to place the glass in the sink.

"But I don't want it to stop. And it's confusing me"

She turned back and looked at him. She was just as confused as he, and her breath was short now. That flutter of hope had grown stronger, turning into steady wing beats, fanning the fire in her heart. He should still be heartbroken, he probably still was. She swallowed. "Oh..." she said again, softly.

"I know I still love him, but it's-it's fading, the shock and pain are dull now, but I-I can't figure out what's happening in my head, my heart, God, Molly, I more than care for you, and it hurts. It all hurts and I'm scared and don't know what to do..." Everything was overwhelming as he tried to make sense of his head. She walked over to him and held him again, trying to make sense of her own head and heart as well. She knew what she wanted to say, but she thought it was too early for it. She hardly dared to think it, but the thought comes to her head anyway. _He loves me..._

He listened to her heartbeat, smiling slightly as it sped up. "Your heart really does beat for me, doesn't it?"

The air in her lungs left her in a rush. "Yes," she breathed, her confession to him after all this time.

"Good." He didn't know why that was the word he said; it just was.

She looked up at him, searching his face. She placed a palm over his heart, letting it rest there. _And what of your heart, Sherlock?_ she thought, but she held her tongue. That question wasn't fair; his heart was still an open wound, especially considering the events of the day before. He saw the question in her eyes, so easy to read at times. He placed his hand over hers. "For now, at the very, very least, for now it beats for you."

Her knees buckled, and she sank to the floor, trying to wrap her mind around what he had just said. For now. Beat for her. His heart beat for her. _His heart beat for HER_. She felt as if she couldn't get enough oxygen into her lungs. He was on the floor in an instant, looking her over, checking her pulse. "Molly? Are you all right? _Molly_?"

She grabbed him and kissed him fiercely, all fire and joy and hope and please..._please don't let this be a lie_. He was surprised at the intensity, barely able to keep up and deciding to melt instead, kissing her back when he could, letting her be in control. His hands came up to frame her face, stroking gently. Molly finally broke for air, looking at him. Her eyes were huge in her face, her lips kiss-stung and swollen, breathing hard, blinking slowly, her hands fisted into the collar of his shirt. There was something akin to desperation in her actions, and she didn't know why. Sherlock met her gaze, panting heavily for air. "Where did you learn to do that?"

"Ah... university," she said sheepishly. She'd had a lover while she was there; it didn't work out because she caught him shagging her roommate about six months after they had started dating.

"Painful memories, but he taught you well," Sherlock murmured. "I only hope I'm keeping up with your lessons."

She smirked, a gesture stolen from the man in front of her. "I'm sure you'll rise to the occasion," she said. The twist of her mouth pulled him back, hungry for more. _He_ kissed _her_ this time, slow and smoldering, his fingers massaging the back of her neck as his lips pressed against and stroked hers. She melted into his touch, moaning into his mouth as his fingers hit just the right spots to cause her to break out into gooseflesh.

_She really makes the most wonderful noises_, Sherlock thought, deepening the kiss and pulling her onto his lap. Molly wrapped her arms around him, dragging her nails down his back, pulling him closer, tasting him, feeling him. He growled at her nails, mimicking the motion, pinned to his spot by her, desperate for more, unwilling to move.

She arched into him with a gasp as he copied her, grinding her hips against his. They were fueling each other, winding each other up. He dropped his lips to her throat before undoing the buttons on her blouse with his teeth, kissing the skin he exposed.

Molly's breath clogged her throat as he placed his mouth on her neck and undid the buttons to her blouse with his teeth, trailing kisses like raindrops down her collarbone, her sternum, resting between her breasts. She moved her hands to his shirt and started undoing his buttons as well, willing her fingers not to fumble as she exposed his marble-white skin to the air. She traced her fingers across his skin, brushing over his nipples and trailing them down to his abdomen.

The roaring in his head finally silenced as Molly took over, her touch/taste/scent, all of it pouring into him, surrounding him. He kissed her naval as her fingers finish stripping him. _Only dressed for ten minutes, _he thought before she was kissing him again and he somehow hauled them both to their feet, pressing her against the wall as he kissed her hard.

She could feel her eyes threaten to roll back in her skull as he pressed his mouth to her navel. Then suddenly she was against the wall and he was branding her with his kisses. Her hands went to his trousers and she quickly unbuttoned and unzipped them, working her way inside and wrapping her fingers around him, squeezing him gently.

Sherlock gasped, everything grinding to a halt as she wrapped her fingers around him. "F-fuck," he moaned, head hitting the wall gently, surprised at his language, but this felt so different from the times before, more raw, more powerful. Her eyes flew open as she heard him curse, the base word sinking its teeth into her in the best way possible. She moved her hand, gliding over him from base to tip and back again. She wanted him to lose control, to come undone, to let go. Sherlock trembled, too close already. "Amazing," he finally breathed, bucking against her hand, desperate for friction.

She suddenly had an idea; one that made her flush, but one that she wanted all the same. Slowly, she turned them so that he was against the wall before sinking to her knees and moving the cloth of his pants aside before taking him into her mouth. She ran her tongue around him, taking as much of him as she could without gagging, looking up at him through her eyelashes. His knees threatened to drop him on the floor as he scrambled for purchase on the wall, anything to stay upright, the feeling so intense. "Molly," he moaned, a prayer.

She began a rhythm, maddeningly slow to make him last, almost letting him go only to take him nearly all the way into her mouth again. The way he moaned her name went straight between her legs, making her squirm against the emptiness there. Sherlock was pressing his head against the wall so hard that his back wasn't touching it anymore, continuing to moan her name, almost begging her to stop. Almost. It was a new war now: make her stop and take her, or let her finish him then and there.

She hummed, pleased with herself and at what she was making him feel, wrapping her tongue around the tip of him. She slid a hand between her legs; she had to have some stimulation or she'd scream. Finally, he couldn't take it, he needed more. Pulling back, he yanked her up and spun her around, pinning her to the wall once more, tugging off her skirt and knickers, rubbing against her before sliding in and bringing her legs up around him. She wrapped her legs around his waist and held on to his shoulders as he began to move, and she was helpless before him; she could only reciprocate so much like this. Sherlock took her hard, surprised by his own tenacity, driving her into the wall, mouth and teeth at her collarbone, her neck, her ear.

"Oh...yes..! Yes..." she gasped, tilting her neck back to give him better access, raking her nails down his back, leaving marks that would take days to fade.

He was close again and hurtling toward the end fast, every noise from her making him ache and burn. She took a breath, and it was over for her; she screamed his name again and again, now whole, now broken, shuddering against and around him. And he was gone, his name on her lips the most beautiful music in the world, hers on his a moan, another prayer, his world not shattering this time but coalescing, coming together, reforming.

As she trembled from the aftershocks, she had the mental image of a glass shattering, being shown in reverse. The pieces jumped together and form a perfect vessel again, just as fragile, but whole. She dropped her head to his shoulder and pressed kisses there and to his throat, breathing ragged. "I love you, I love you, I love you," she whispered: a mantra, a prayer, a blessing, a benediction.

"I know," he whispered back, not quite able to say the words yet. "My heart beats for you," he said instead. Her eyes met his and she nodded. The terms are accepted, the contract made and bound. It was enough. It was more than enough. He kissed her softly, chastely. "I'll stay if you'll have me."

"Yes..." she breathed. Once more, she kissed his forehead and his eyelids and sealed it with a soft kiss to his mouth. There was no heat or desperation behind it...only acceptance.

"Thank you."

Molly unwound from around him, setting her feet to the ground and wobbling, thankful for the wall behind her and Sherlock in front of her. Her legs could barely hold her up from the aftermath of their lovemaking, and she had to giggle; she was like a newborn fawn learning how to walk for the first time. He steadied her, holding her gently up, making sure she was fine.

She smiled up at him and leaned forward, kissing the skin over his heart. She felt it beat and she fought the urge to let loose a snarl of joy; he had told her, twice now. _Mine_ she thought as she guided his hand to hers. He rubbed his thumb in circles over her heart, feeling their pulses slowly synchronize, amazed at the feeling. _Mine,_ he thought suddenly, _I have her heart._ This was uncharted territory for the both of them. 'Ware to those without a compass," she murmured.

"Two hearts as one..."

Her grin was blinding, and she felt incandescent. She took his other hand in hers and twined her fingers around his. He glanced at their hands, so many images and memories pouring through his mind as he looked at them. He let them flow through his mind, allowing a small smile of the night he and John were handcuffed together, eyes flying open as he realized there was no pain there. She felt concern as his eyes shot open and there was a look on his face that defied explanation. "Sherlock?" she asked, ready to be there, ready to help repair the hurt, or try to.

"It doesn't hurt anymore." He was astounded, amazed, and the smile that broke his features took a few years off him. "Molly, it doesn't hurt, the memories don't hurt."

She let out a breath that she didn't know she was holding, and she smiled at him, her heart singing for him. The pieces were set and the cracks are vanishing, for the both of them. They were the glue that holds the other together; tried by fire, tempered by pain. The song came unbidden to his lips, the words he never thought he'd say, unsure for the moment of its origin in his memory, "I love you, I love you, I love you." (6)

Time stopped. Everything _stopped_. She stared at him, eyes wide, hardly daring to believe she had just heard. He sang it to her; he sang her the words. The hope that was fluttering and then flapping inside her chest was now a hurricane, a force of nature, a supernova. Tears filled her eyes and she wrapped her arms around him, clutching him to her. She couldn't say anything; she couldn't find the words. He knew already. He lost track of how long they stood there, but it was some time before he felt her heart start to slow again, his chest very damp with her tears, but he didn't care. He knew. Oh heaven help him, he knew.

She felt like she could unlock her throat and sing out to the world, like she could do anything, like she could catch fire, like she could burn and burn and not ever stop, like she could level mountains and raise forests. He pressed gentle kisses to her hair, holding her tight and secure in his arms. She closed her eyes and sighed. She could die right now, 'to cease upon the midnight with no pain, whilst thou are pouring forth thy soul with such an ecstasy; still wouldst thou sing.'And she wouldn't care. All was right with her and the world. (7)

"I could get used to this."

She let out a breathless laugh. "I second that motion," she said softly.

In a sudden rush, Sherlock picked her up, spinning her as he kissed her, laughing. She let out a shriek of laughter as he lifted and spun her, kissing her again. She ran her fingers through his hair as he held her, his head nestled between her breasts, and she placed a kiss to the top of his skull, taking in his scent- _their_ scent. He let her slide back down his body before kissing once more. "Flowers. You smell of flowers."

She laughed again. "Really? You smell like..." she pressed her nose into his skin and drew in a breath, "spice. And musk. It smells delicious," she said, showing her teeth in a grin.

"Spice?" he chuckled

She nodded. "You do...it's like..." she furrowed her brow to think of an appropriate description. "Cinnamon and pepper and clove," she finally said.

"Hmmmm, spices and flowers, a good match, that."

She nodded again, nuzzling him. "I think another shower is in order," she murmured.

"Shall I help?"

"That was my intent," she grinned cheekily at him.

"Oooh, naughty," he grinned back, tugging her gently after him.

Her grin became a smirk and she led him to the bathroom, starting the hot water and fetching fresh towels and washcloths for the both of them. Sherlock stepped into the shower first, letting the hot water relax his tense muscles. Molly followed him, letting out a pleased sigh as the hot water hit her skin. She tilted her head back to get her hair wet and reached for her shampoo. An idea occurred to her; she took a decent amount of shampoo in her hands and massaged it into Sherlock's scalp, washing his hair for him as the steam from the shower fogged up the air around them. He relaxed more into her touch, bending lower to give her better access, helping her rinse it afterwards. "My turn."

She passed the shampoo to him and turned, giving him free reign, purring as he moved his fingers through her hair. He worked it in thoroughly, relishing her noises as always, making sure to clean all of her hair. 'It's lovely long," he whispered, "But have you ever thought of cutting it?"

Her breath hitched. "No," she said softly. "The last time I cut it, save for a trim, was...was right after my dad died. Chopped it off to under my ears."

He stopped. "I-I'm sorry...I didn't know-"

She reached back and gently touched his arm. "It's all right, you didn't know. It was a while ago," she said.

He brushed soapy hair back from her face. "I feel like I say the wrong thing around you more than the right."

She gave a short laugh. "Funny, I think the exact same thing about myself..."

He smiled as he washed the suds down the drain, reaching for the conditioner and working it in, running his fingers all the way through her hair as the tangles seemed to dissolve under his touch. She purred, feeling boneless and relaxed; his hands were wonderful. He let the water run over her head again, intrigued by her hair's softness now, the smell of lavender thick in the air.

She looked up at him, her eyes heavy-lidded. She took a good look at him, taking in all of him, noting things that were lost earlier in the throes of their passion. There were slivery scars on his skin, wounds that had healed over. Some were pinker and new-looking, and it was those that she traced with her lips as if to make them vanish. Truth be told, though, she loved them. Well, she loved _all_ of him. He watched as she kissed his scars, reminders of the danger and death he had faced for three years while he continued to brush her hair with his fingers. Molly rested her forehead against his chest, relaxing into him as his fingers still work through her hair. "If you keep doing that, I'm going to fall asleep," she murmured.

He chuckled softly. "I still need the conditioner," he said softly.

She glanced up at him. "Never took you as one for conditioner," she said, arching an eyebrow. She moved away from him to comply, working it into his hair, gently pulling and moving her fingers through his thick, dark curls.

"New appreciation after a particularly nasty tangle with one of Moriarty's men; almost had to cut my hair off completely."

Both her eyebrows went up at that. She bit her lip before risking the question. "What...what happened?"

"Weeklong stakeout gone sour. Wound up bound and tortured for a few days until I managed to get free. Those scars on my chest just below my ribs are my reminders of the event. The...remains of the men I took down gunked up everything, and it was several days before I was able to find a place to shower." He grimaced at the memories.

Her breath caught in her throat. _Bound. Tortured._ Images flashed unbidden across her mind of him, broken and bleeding. That brought back memories of the nightmares she'd had for nearly three years, him on her slab, actually having gone through with the Fall without her help, without a way out. She shivered and swallowed hard, feeling suddenly and inexplicably cold. He turned up the heat on the water, bringing her hands down from his soapy hair and holding her close. "That was a while ago, more than a year now. I'm safe, Molly."

She let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. "Still..." she said softly. "You...you were hurt. You could have died..."

"But I didn't."

She nodded. "I know," she said, "I know." But that didn't stop her from holding him closer. Those damned images flashed across her eyes again: _him broken and bleeding and cold, unmoving on her slab, eyes glazed over in death. _She let out a shaky breath and focused on his reassuring warmth, the feel of his skin underneath of her hands.

"You've gone quiet." It wasn't a question. His eyes glanced over her. "You aren't here, you're somewhere else."

She gave her head a quick shake to clear it. "Bad dreams," she said.

"Tell me. Let me help." Soap dripped down the side of his face as he held her.

"Rinse first or you'll get soap in your eyes," she said, composing herself.

He leaned forward, bringing her hands back up to help, sighing as she helps work the tangles out. She finger-combed his hair as he washed the conditioner out, her mind elsewhere. She didn't want to tell him, didn't want him to worry, didn't want these things to darken the light of day. But knowing Sherlock, he'd press until she gave in. As always.

"Soap?" he asked. "I really haven't showered much recently."

She half-smiled as she handed him the soap and washcloth.

He lathered it up, scrubbing everywhere until his skin was pink and slightly raw. "Better," he sighed. "Do you mind if I wash you down?"

She blinked, surprised, but shook her head. "No, I don't mind," she said, almost shy. He was so gentle, rubbing the soap in with his hands instead of the rough cloth, memorizing everything. Of course, this was where the roses came from, her soap. Her breath stuttered as his hands moved across her skin, no washcloth between them. She didn't quite know how to feel or what to do, merely letting him touch her.

Sherlock took a few extra seconds on her hands, holding them and examining them before continuing. He helped her rinse, the floral smell only intensifying until he knew he would always associate it with Molly. She watched him, fascinated, as he paid extra attention to her hands. He observed each finger, trailing his touch up her palms, feeling the pulse in her wrist, tracing the veins and the arteries before helping her rinse. She could feel herself flush for no apparent reason.

Before he turned the water off, Sherlock pulled her in for a kiss, hard yet sweet, not demanding, more possessive and reassuring, lasting only a moment. The water shut off and Molly stepped out, wrapping a towel around her, handing one to him. He toweled off his hair first, shaking it out after squeezing the extra water from it before drying off. She watched, unable to stop herself, as water trailed its way down his neck and collarbone, down his chest, down his abdomen and she turned away to dry her own hair, wringing the water from it, running the towel down her limbs and breasts, between her legs and down. Sherlock was watching, very surreptitiously as she dried herself, suddenly wanting to do that for her and marveling at how quickly he'd become attached, how swiftly he'd begun to care...perhaps he always had but hadn't understood it.

Wrapping the towel around her, she exited the bathroom to find her clothes; they were still scattered about in the kitchen, the smell of sex strong there. It was...odd; he was heartbroken yesterday, and now he loved her. She could barely wrap her head around it. He followed her, scooping up his shirt first, the towel barely hanging onto his thin hips. Clutching the clothes to her chest, she brushed past him, catching a whiff of his scent. He smelled like her now; and something in her grinned and growled at it. Another part of her internally laughed; he smelled decidedly floral.

Sherlock shrugged on his shirt before grabbing his pants and trousers, tugging them on right there in the kitchen. She kept the door of her bedroom open as she dropped her towel and pulled on her underwear and clasped her bra. She cast aside her skirt and found a pair of jeans instead. She glanced out to the kitchen where he was only in his trousers, his shirt hanging off him loosely. She smiled at the sight; she could really get used to seeing that. She was lost in thought as she slowly put on her blouse, putting the buttons through the holes one by one. Leaving his shirt unbuttoned, Sherlock walked back to her room, leaning on her door. "I need a hand with something."

She turned to face him and her breath caught. _God, he was beautiful_. "What do you need?" she asked, echoing what she said those long years ago in the morgue, when he told her she counted, when he told her he was afraid, when he told her he was going to die. He felt the slight sadness in his eyes before it was gone. "Would you like-could you-" He planned to ask her back to Baker Street until the thought of John being gone overwhelmed him for the first time since the night before. He gasped, brow furrowed. He shoved hard against the pain, banishing the idea. "I need help," he whispered instead, the emotions still threatening to overwhelm him; it was too much too soon, trying to think of his flat mate and blogger so casually.

She stepped closer to him, and, like three years ago, repeated herself. "What do you _need?_" she asked him softly. She wanted to help him, to be there. He glanced at her, eyes burning. "Sit me down before I fall. Hold me. Tell me things will be all right." He felt like a child, lost and afraid after one of his father's many drunken rages. Her breath left her in a rush, and she took his hand without question, leading him to the bed and sitting him down. She did as he asked and held him, resting his head between her breasts and pressing her lips to the top of his skull. "I'm here... you'll be fine, I'm here..." she murmured.

He sobbed brokenly against her chest. "I can't-can't go back to B-Baker street," he whispered. "Memories are too s-strong."

She held him tighter. "You can stay here as long as you need. As long as you want. As long as it takes," she said, moving her fingers through his damp hair in a soothing gesture.

"I'm rather...difficult to live with."

"I don't care," she said.

He pulled back. "You're serious."

She looked at him. "Would I joke about something like this?" she asked him, daring him to tell her otherwise.

He shook his head. "Thought I-I should warn you...only fair prospective flat mates should know the worst about each other." He ignored the tears now, trying to find a smile even though he felt the familiar twinge of pain in his chest. Molly wrapped herself around him, feeling her throat tighten. He said that to John when they became flat mates; she recalled that conversation well. She rubbed his back in slow circles.

Sherlock cried until he had nothing left, taking solace in Molly's feel and smell, her amazing ability to comfort him. "I don't deserve this," he muttered, hugging her tightly before letting her go. She sighed. "You keep saying that, but you really do. What do I have to do or say to prove to you that you deserve to be loved?" she asked, genuinely confused and a little pained. Did he not get affection growing up? That could explain the way he acted.

"My father hated me, beat me regularly when he drank. He beat Mycroft as well, but only when he stood up to Father for me. Mummy was always...indisposed. Drugged up was more like it." His face was carefully blank as he spoke.

She felt her breath leave her in a rush. Oh, _Sherlock..._She held him tightly, fiercely. She willed him to feel how much she cared, how much she loved him. She tried to push back the pain he felt, to become what he needed, to become a solace to him. She wanted to keep him safe; safe from the memories of the past, from all those who would try to hurt him. If they did...they would have her to deal with.

Sherlock buried his face in her shoulder, the first person to really touch him aside from John, to want to touch him, be near him, to want to care for him She rested her head atop of his, her arms around him; at this moment, she was content to hold him. She rubbed a finger across his cheek and traced it down his throat to slip behind his ear and down the back of his neck, putting light pressure there, feeling the tension.

He leaned into her but pressed back against her finger slightly, feeling the knots in his neck. "Can you help with that?"

She smiled against him and moved her other hand to the back of his neck and bore down, gently but firmly, working her knuckles into the muscle on either side of his spinal cord and then down to his shoulders. "Christ, Sherlock, it's like you're welded out of metal," she said, feeling the tension and strain in him. He turned around, giving her better access, groaning as she dug into his strained muscles. Molly worked her way down his back, putting more weight into her hands, moving down to just above his buttocks and then moving her way back up. Sherlock's head rolled forward. "Ung...yeah, up a bit-ah!-yep, that's it, right there, oh, thank you."

She found the spot he was talking about (under his left shoulder blade and down a bit) and bore down hard. Sherlock groaned louder, the pain sharp and intense before dissipating. He relaxed back against her. "Thank you."

She merely smiled before working her way over to the other side and repeating the process. Then up to his arms and down each one, kneading the muscles. She worked her way down to his wrists and hands, down each finger; same for the other arm, up his neck once more and then to his scalp, gently working the small muscles that cover his skull. Soon he was whimpering and purring under her touch. "God, Molly, you're amazing," he whispered as she worked his scalp. "That was even better than the shower."

She chuckled lightly at his compliment and switched from massaging his scalp to running her fingers through his hair, then down his back to scratch it before trading that out for long, soothing strokes. She pressed a kiss to each of his shoulders, then draped herself around him, her hands joining at his sternum. He smiled, holding her hands, playing with her fingers, studying them. "Lithe and strong," he murmurs. "God, I really love it when you touch me like you just were."

She flushed. That was nearly dirty talk, coming from him. "Oh...ah...you're welcome," she said.

"Could I try?"

She blinked in surprise. "Oh! Yes, you may," she said, removing herself from him and turning so her back is facing him.

"Very eager...interesting," he grinned, lifting his hands to her shoulders, working slow circles at the nape of her neck before trailing his fingers down the tense muscles of her back, working the back sides of her ribs on his way up. She almost melted under the pressure of those large hands and strong fingers. She often forgot about how much tension she carried in her back from being on her feet all day, working over bodies, doing paperwork hunched over a desk in the morgue. She gasped as he hit a particularly tender spot. "Ah...! There, please," she breathed.

Both hands moved to her right shoulder, kneading circles in the muscle and feeling it relax before taking her shoulders and rolling them up, back, and down a few times. Her arms were next, then her hands and fingers.

Her eyelids fluttered shut and she moaned; she hadn't felt this relaxed in God knew how many years. "You keep this up and you're going to have to use a sponge to move me anywhere," she murmured, feeling distinctly liquefied.

"I-I don't think I would mind holding you...if you want," he murmured, kissing her shoulders, his hands coming up to massage her scalp and still damp hair.

She hummed and smiled. "No, that would be nice," she said as his hands moved through her hair and caressed her scalp. He scooted up on the half made bed, letting go of her head and lying down with his head on the white pillows, one arm sprawled out. She joined him, curling up on her side, knees bent. She looked at him, blinking almost sleepily. He wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close, holding her gently, tenderly. She smiled and nuzzled her head into his chest, letting out a sigh of content. A smile tugged the corner of Sherlock's lips before he fell asleep, exhausted from everything.

_To answer your questions, yes we did have a Beatles lyrics contest in the middle there. We regret nothing, but in case you aren't familiar with the songs, here they are (and the poem we quoted from):_

**(1)- Golden Slumbers**

**(2)- Carry that Weight**

**(3)- The End**

**(4)- Dear Prudence**

**(5)- Girl**

**(6)- Michelle**

**(7)- Ode to a Nightingale by John Keats**

_Read and Respond! Thanks to everyone who has reviewed, subscribed, favorited, etc. Much more to come!_


	3. Chapter 3

**_Here it is: Chapter 3! Thank you to everyone who has read the story, reviewed it, subscribed, etc. I appreciate it so very much. Keep the reviews coming. It won't be peaches and cream forever._**

Chapter 3: Nightmares and Confessions

Molly held him for a while, watching Sherlock sleep before gently extricating herself from his grasp and covering him up with blankets from the floor, being careful not to wake him (the bed still wasn't made). She wandered through the kitchen and the living room, picking up the stained sheets from the night before and that morning, throwing them in the washing machine. Molly stood over the appliance and leaned against it, letting out a sigh. _Now what...?_ she thought to herself, thinking about the sleeping form of the world's only consulting detective, back from the grave, curled up on her bed.

_It didn't take long, his dreams swirling in random patterns before coalescing into him on the roof of the hospital, facing Moriarty, only this time, the madman had Molly in his grasp. Three snipers, three bullets, but now there was a consulting criminal with a handgun, threatening Sherlock's only salvation. "No, don't do this-"_

She turned as she heard Sherlock mutter something in his sleep. She remembered him saying something about nightmares and made her way into the bedroom cautiously.

_The psychopath was going to do it, kill her and make him watch, then force him to see the others die before shoving him over the edge to the unforgiving pavement below. Sherlock saw Molly's face, her eyes. She whispered three words before Jim pulled the trigger. "NO!"_

She watched him jackknife into a sitting position, screaming "NO!" and she ran to his side. "Sherlock! Sherlock, wake up! You're dreaming," she said, taking him by the shoulders. He was shaking, crying, gasping for air, not quite awake yet, red blood filling his vision as he panted "No, no, no" over and over. Not knowing what else to do, she gathered him into her arms. "Shhh...I'm here, I'm here...I've got you," she murmured, rocking him as he shook and cried. The dream cleared after a few agonizing moments, and he could feel arms around him. "Molly." She was alive. "Alive, oh god, alive."

"Yes, I'm alive. I'm here," she repeated, stroking his hair away from his face where it was plastered to his forehead with cold sweat. She placed one of his hands on her wrist, allowing him to feel her pulse there, to solidify reality and chase away the nightmare. A second pulse, not his, _god that helped more than anything else_. His breathing slowed, and his grip tightened slightly on her wrist, making sure she was solid.

"I've got you," she said, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "You're all right. You're safe."

He nodded, finding his voice. "We should go out, go shopping or something, I'm sure Mycroft slipped me a credit card with my clothes. I hate the trust fund, but I'm grateful now I suppose. Get some things for me, food for you..." Anything to get out of the dream, to free himself from Jim's hold. Molly sighed, glad that he was awake. "All right, let me get my shoes and purse," she said, slowly rising; she went to leave, but he still had her tight in his grasp.

"Kiss me. The pulse isn't quite enough and Moriarty-" he grimaced at the name "-I just need something."

She froze at the name 'Moriarty'...the man featured prominently in her nightmares as well, knowing what she knew now, knowing that she'd let him into her home. She sat back down on the bed and kissed the shaking detective on the mouth, soft and gentle, breathing him in. His grip on her wrist relaxed as he pulled her close, deepening the kiss for a few moments before breaking it, breathing deep. "Thank you."

"Any time," she gasped, her brain reeling slightly from the kiss. She finally got up and went to get her things, putting her hair up in its usual ponytail.

"Leave it down. Sorry-it looks better down." Sherlock rose and grabbed his socks and shoes, pulling them on. She quirked an eyebrow but removed the elastic from her hair, allowing it to tumble over her shoulders, slightly wavy since it had air-dried. She waited for him by the door. He grabbed his card from the bag and his coat from the sitting room. "Ready."

"Right. Well...Allons-y," she said, flinging open the door and walking out, being sure to lock it behind him as they left. They perused the shops for hours, getting more clothes for him and some toiletries so he didn't have to smell like roses every time he showered. She picked up some groceries and window-shopped a bit. He bought his cologne, picking shirts in colors he could tell she liked, mostly darker ones and jewel tones. They almost held hands a few times while walking, and he smiled when she stopped to look in the window of a jewelry store. As the sun started to sink in the sky, she looked up at him. "Ready to call it a day and head back?" she asked, both of their arms laden with the fruits of their labor.

He nodded. "I'll meet you back there, just need to get something I forgot. I'll be-home-soon"

She raised an eyebrow and looked at him warily. "All right...I'll take your things...home, then?" she asked. Then something hit her. Home. He had said _home_ and meant back to her flat. She tried to fight down the grin she felt rising to the surface and almost managed to, but it shone through. He kissed her cheek gently. "Go, won't take a minute." He waited until she was out of sight before heading back to get the one thing he'd forgotten. She fairly skipped away, feeling the happiest she'd felt in...years, actually. She made it to the flat and started putting away the things, humming to herself, a grin as large as she could make spread out across her face.

He made it back half an hour later, knocking on the door. "It's me."

She opened the door and beamed at him. "You're back..." she said softly, moving aside so he could come inside. She'd made dinner, a quick meal that she was proud of with a good wine breathing on the counter.

"You sound slightly surprised." The pocket of his jacket felt heavy as he draped his coat over a chair and turned around to kiss her. She kissed him back. "I...I was afraid that I'd made the whole thing up, or that...that you left again," she admitted. She wasn't proud of this, this doubt she had.

"I would tell you," he said, glancing at the food. "You made dinner."

"Yes, I have," she said, quirking an eyebrow. He was stating the obvious, which was...new. "I didn't know if you'd be hungry or not, though."

"A bit, I think. No wine for me though, just water."

She nodded and got it for him, sitting down at the small table and pouring a glass of wine for herself. It was a red wine, tart on her tongue, the alcohol setting a nice slow burn down her throat. She waited for him to sit. He took his seat, sipping the water thirstily and smiling at her. "Thank you for this. It's very kind of you"

She smiled and flushed, looking down at her plate. "It's really nothing," she murmured as she started to eat. They ate in silence for a bit before he cleared his throat. "I-I have something for you."

She tilted her head. "Oh?" she queried. Again, this was new. He reached in the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small box. "Here."

Her eyebrows shot into her hairline as she stared at the small box. It was clearly a jewelry box and she lifted it carefully, feeling faint.

"I think it'll suit you."

She gingerly opened the box and nearly dropped it. Nestled in it were the sapphire star earrings that she had been admiring in the window. "Oh my god...Sherlock..." she breathed, her eyes wide.

"I'm glad you like them."

She gave a faint laugh. "Like them? I... Sherlock, they're beautiful," she said, taking them out and putting them in her ears. They looked perfect as he had known they would. "You were admiring them and clearly weren't going to get them yourself. I don't really know how to repay all of your kindness, and they seemed to be the perfect thing."

She smiled at him. "You don't have to repay me...you're here, you're safe. That's all I need," she said softly, taking his hand with hers. He played with her hand, stroking it, fascinated before looking up at her, stunned once more by her, well, her beauty. "Come here," he whispered. She stood, moving trance-like towards him, her eyes never leaving his.

He pulled her down on his knee, leaning forward and kissing each ear where the earrings were before taking her mouth in his, kissing her deeply, almost drinking the residual wine from her lips. She wound her arms around his neck as he kissed her, moving her fingers up into his hair and pressing herself to him. His hands were on her back, pulling her close as they snogged; Sherlock finally broke for air. "Bed," he murmured softly.

She didn't argue with him. Grinning wickedly, she stood, trailing her fingers slowly out of his hair and down his face, letting her fingertips linger on his jaw before she turned towards the bedroom. He could still feel her fingers on his face ever after they'd left. Sherlock followed her, shutting the door and switching out the light, the last rays of sun shining through the windows.

Molly could see him through the half-light of the bedroom as she started unbuttoning her blouse and slid it off her shoulders, allowing it to land on the floor in a whisper of discarded cloth. Sherlock's fingers danced over her skin as he kissed her again before undoing his own shirt. She breathed him in as he stripped himself, and she worked on undoing the confines of her own clothes as well until she was bare before him, clad in nothing but her own skin and the sapphires that winked in her ears.

His trousers and pants were next; he stopped just long enough to toe off his shoes, and then he matched her, bare skin almost glowing in the dim light. She merely stared at him. "God, you are so...you're so beautiful," she whispered, her eyes roving up and down him as she traced the lines of his collarbones with her hands.

"I'm really not, but I'm glad you think so."

Both her eyebrows went up again. "You're not? Sherlock, you seriously need to look in the mirror some time. You have the body of a Greek god, your skin is like marble, and your eyes...oh my God, your eyes," she said, at a loss for words.

"You flatter me...what about my eyes?"

"I could drown in them," she said softly, blushing at her prose. He slowly leaned down until he was staring into her own eyes, foreheads gently touching. "Really?"

"Yes," she said, breathless.

He smiled and kissed her, tongue exploring her mouth as his hand cupped her face. The feel of his tongue in her mouth set her blood on fire and she pressed herself to him again, feeling the line of his body against hers. His other hand went to the small of her back, pressing her closer as their tongues danced. She moaned into his mouth; everything was oversensitive as if she were running on overdrive.

He pulled them both down on the bed, soon straddling her as they kissed. She arched up into him, breath sobbing in her throat as she ran her fingernails down his back. He growled softly, rocking harder, soon stroking her with his arousal, the kisses growing more urgent. She shuddered as he rocked against her, rubbing his manhood up against her folds but not entering her yet. She whimpered as he kissed her; she needed him, craved for him to be inside of her. Lips moving to her neck, Sherlock slowly pressed into her, moaning at the sensation.

Her breath left her in a rush as he slowly seated himself within her, her muscles stretching around him. "Ah...ah!" she cried out softly, pressing her head back into the pillows, twisting her hands in the sheets.

"You all right?" He couldn't help feeling slightly panicked.

"Oh my god, _yes_," she said, her eyes glazed over with desire for him. She had to slowly count from one to one hundred to keep herself in control; otherwise, she would have climaxed in an instant, and she wanted this to last.

He kissed her, moving slowly, hands in fists to keep himself in check, to keep himself from having it end. Their lovemaking was languid, like they were both dipped in honey, moving slowly but sweetly. She experimentally clenched around him, holding him tight within her, as tight as she could. He gasped, breathing stuttering as she tightened around him. "Oh god...Molly." It wasn't the desperate fire from before; if anything, the slow burn was even more intense. She smiled and purred and did it again, moving down him as she did. Everything was dragging and almost lazy, but the heat of them both was furious.

His toes curled as she met his thrusts, his body burning and sweat beading on his brow. He lowered his lips to her collarbone, sucking gently and making her gasp. It surprised her into bucking up fast, taking him to the hilt inside of her. He shuddered, almost coming right then. "I'm close," he panted, lips still on her collarbone She nodded, "Me too," she said. She bucked against him once more, and he hit that one spot deep inside her that made her vision go white and made her scream his name as she went over the edge and came in a blaze.

She clenched around him and he was lost, the stars he saw a deep blue with white and silver sparkles, his thrusting erratic until he collapsed. He fell on top of her, both of them sweaty and panting. She held him close and felt his heartbeat galloping through the skin of his chest, against hers. "Oh my _God_" she breathed. "That was... intense."

He nodded. "Far more so than the others, a most intriguing comparison."

She made a small noise of agreement. They lay there quietly for a while until her stomach growled. She blushed crimson. "Ah...sorry. We were eating before this and, well..." she said, embarrassed.

He chuckled, kissing her a few times. "Got a bit distracted, sorry." He rose and helped her up, handing her the bathrobe from her closet as he picked up his own from his bag. They went and ate, clad in bathrobes, still sweaty from each other. When they'd finished, Molly brought the dishes to the sink and began washing them, humming softly.

"What song is that? I'm afraid my musical knowledge outside of the classical is rather lacking."

She blushed. "An old Scottish tune," she said.

"How does it go?"

She sighed and smiled before restarting, singing so he can hear. "Now westlin' winds and slaughtering guns bring autumn's pleasant weather. The moorcock springs on whirring wings, among the blooming heather. Now waving grain wild o'er the plain delights the weary farmer; the moon shines bright while I rove at night to muse upon my charmer." (1)

He came up behind her, hands sliding around her waist as he pressed a kiss to her neck. "You have a lovely voice."

She leaned back into him. "As do you. I didn't know you could sing," she said, recalling earlier that day when they had had their own call-and-response session.

"Forced into lessons as a boy, never forgot the technique."

She smiled. "Well...it's beautiful. Like the rest of you," she added cheekily.

"Oh?" He raised an eyebrow. Thinking for a moment, he began to sing, an old Latin chant he'd been forced to learn. "To you before the close of day, Creator of all things we pray, that, in your constant clemency, our guard and keeper you will be." (2)

She could feel the vibration of it through her back, his voice raised in song that made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. "Oh..." she gasped, forgetting to breathe. He continued to hum the tune into her neck, swaying gently.

She stopped what she was doing and really listened, feeling a shiver that ran up and down her spine, her eyes closed in rapture. A sudden thought zinged through her and let what was in her hands slowly drop back into the sink: a mental image of Sherlock singing to an infant (_theirs, a child, their child, their baby_) flashing at her. She swallowed hard and forced it back down. _Too much_, too much and too fast. Sherlock was very clear that he was married to his work.

The tune morphed once more, the music coming more easily and readily than it ever had before, the chants melting together until he came upon a very simple tune, one he could vaguely remember his mother singing to him. Scottish. Wild Mountain Thyme, he finally named in his head.

There was that image in her head again; soft light and soft music and soft infant noises. _No...this wasn't fair, to either of them_.

Changing, ever changing, music held such sway over him; it was one of the reasons he loved his violin. The Scottish Ballad quickly became Simple Gifts, then the tune of Beethoven's Pathetique, then snippets of Vivaldi, everything whirling together in his mind as he stood there.

She paled, a realization suddenly bursting into her head. They had made love four times now, each time without protection, each time ending with him coming inside her. Oh...oh God. What if she...? She swallowed hard. He felt her stiffen. "Are you all right?"

She let out a breath. She needed to tell him. If...if she is...then he has to know. "Sherlock...we...we've made love without protection. I...I could be pregnant..." she said, feeling somewhat faint. She wouldn't be surprised in the slightest if he got dressed and ran, never speaking to her or seeing her again.

He stiffened slightly; in all of his observations and musings, this had never occurred to him, never been a problem. "It will be a few days before that even is possible," he whispered, brain kicking into gear, examining everything.

"Only a few days for it to be possible to detect. I...I could be...right now," she said. She was scared; again, the thought came to mind. What if he left? What if he walked out? What would she do if she was...? How would she support herself and a child?

"Shhhhh," he whispered, holding her tighter, his own terrors about parenthood finally revealing themselves. Him, a father, would he be any good? Could it work? Mycroft would hunt him down if he left her, there was no doubt in his mind about that, but could he do it? Actually raise a child?

She took one, two, three deep breaths to calm herself. She leaned her head back into his shoulder. _Breathe, Molly_. Unconsciously, her hands moved down to cup her belly. His hands came around to rest on hers, trying hard to comfort himself as much as her.

The rest of the night was almost eerily quiet; both of them had a lot on their minds. When they finally went to bed and snuggled under clean sheets, Molly lay awake for a long time, staring into the darkness before sleep finally claimed her. The nightmares didn't return, and Sherlock even found himself drifting off fast, sleep claiming him as he held Molly's hand.

oOoOo

_As her lover slept peacefully beside her, Molly found herself in the teeth of a nightmare, the nightmare that had haunted her sleep every night since she helped Sherlock fake his death three years ago. She was in the morgue at Bart's and he was on the slab, broken and bruised and bloody, his limbs sticking at odd angles, his ribs and skull shattered, his eyes glazed over in death. She whimpered and cried, tears falling down her face, thick and fast. "No...no please," she begged._

Sherlock heard her speak, pulling him up out of his own sleep. He saw the tears, her hand clasping his so tight it hut, her words stabbing him. "Molly, Molly, wake up, wake up, love." He didn't register the pet name as it crossed his lips, too concerned with pulling her from the dream.

_The dream shifted and now Moriarty was there on the rooftop of Bart's as she watched him shove Sherlock off the edge. Before he fell, though, he reached for her and she ran to him, but wasn't fast enough. Just as she was about to reach him, her fingertips brushing his, he was gone and there was a sickening wet crack as he hit the pavement. _

Her eyes flew open and she gasped, sitting up, sweating, shaking. "SHERLOCK!" she screamed, hands out, reaching, detective caught her, pulling her close and holding her tight against him as she sobbed. He could guess what her dream was about. "I'm here. I'm alive." He slipped her hand against his chest, pressing it to his heart. "I'm not going anywhere, love, I promised. Shhhh, it's all right, let it go, it's just a dream."

She trembled against him, still half-asleep, her hand pressed to his heartbeat as she gasped for air, soaking his sleep shirt with tears. "Moriarty...rooftop...couldn't reach you...I'm sorry..." she whimpered brokenly. His breathing stopped, her nightmare so close to his from before; Moriarty haunted both of them it would seem, even in death. "But you did. I'm _here_, love."

Slightly more awake now, she clutched him to her, his heartbeat reassuring her. She reached up and cupped his face with both her hands, feeling the warmth of his skin, his breath ghosting over her fingers. She let out a steadying breath. "You're _here_..." she said, leaning her head into his chest. He kissed her palms gently, holding her head to him. "Yes, yes I'm here, love, I'm not leaving again."

She took another steadying breath. "I love you..." she whispered, listening to his heart beat.

"I love you too." Sherlock held her until she relaxed, sleeping again. He lay Molly down and wrapped his arm around her stomach, pressing her back to his chest and drifting off again.

oOoOo

She finally slept, long and deep and dreamless. Molly woke up the next morning with Sherlock's arm still wrapped around her, feeling him breathe evenly in sleep, and contentment coursed through her. She closed her eyes and relished it, knowing that he was there beside her. He felt her heartbeat speed up and it woke him, the infinitesimal change like an alarm. He squeezed her gently. "Morning."

She smiled; his voice was deep and rough from sleep. "Morning, love," she said, rolling over to face him and wrapping her arms around him in turn. She pressed a kiss to his sternum and nuzzled into him.

"Sleep better, love?" He heard it this time, the pet name, as he kissed the top of her head. She blinked at the word, another new thing to add to the list. "Mm...much," she said, cuddling closer.

"Good." He wrapped as much of her as he could with his limbs, breathing in her scent: flowers and sleep.

Molly buried her nose into him, taking in his scent: spice, like before, and sleep...and she loved it. She purred happily, enjoying the smell and the warmth and the feel of him against her. Sherlock chuckled softly, her nose tickling a bit, rubbing her back gently. She sighed and smiled. Her nightmares were blanched by the light of the sun streaming in through the window and the sound and the smell and the feel of Sherlock beside her. Finally, although she didn't want to, she forced herself to get up. She stretched, making little noises in the back of her throat as she loosened her muscles and stood. He watched her, still unwilling to move, amazed that he had slept so much in the past few days. "Are you all right?"

She looked at him. "Hmm? Yes, I'm fine," she said.

"Good." He stood and made the bed, rifling through his bag for a clean pair of pants before getting dressed. She stripped her pajamas off and dressed herself, then padded out into the kitchen to make coffee. Sherlock unpacked while Molly made coffee, laying his things out on the bed until he could ask about closets and drawers and such before heading to the kitchen.

She hummed as she moved around the kitchen, clattering around. He leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, smiling as he watched her. She didn't know he was there yet, and there was something more relaxed in her movements than when she was aware of him. He saw the spring in her step, recognized the smile on her lips, but the music, the music was the chant he'd hummed to her the night before.

She started to sing, trying to recall the lyrics in Latin (and failing miserably). He laughed, adding his voice to help. "Te lucis ante terminum, Rerum creator poscimus, Ut solita clementia, Sis praesul ad custodium," his rich baritone swelling in the room. (3)

She started at the sound of his voice, then looked at him, her face alight with joy and awe. The hair on the back of her neck stood up and she shivered with pleasure at the sound. He finished the song, never taking his eyes off her, every emotion clear and strong on her face and in her eyes. She let out a breath she didn't remember holding. "I...my God," she said, giving a small shudder, beaming. His voice did...interesting things to her.

"What is it?" he asked, striding into the room and embracing her. She held him tightly. "_You_. Just...you." she said simply. "You amaze me."

"What about me amazes you?"

"Everything. Your mind, your voice, your touch," she replied.

"My voice?"

She bit her lip and nodded. "It's like...oh...I don't know...a...a jaguar trapped in a cello," she said; it was the first thing that came to mind. He burst out laughing, hugging her tighter. "So, low and growling but with a very distinct echo pattern?" He grinned at her, spinning a little on the spot.

"Something like that," she said, laughing a bit.

"And my mind. What about that?" He wanted to know everything she was thinking.

"Your mind is...is brilliant. It's amazing! You can deduce anything and figure anything out in seconds and it astounds me," she said.

"And my touch?"

She shivered. "Your touch undoes me," she said quietly.

He kissed the top of her head again and reluctantly let go before something happened as it seemed to do in those moments. "Coffee, black with two sugars if you don't mind," he said. She chuckled, remembering their banter in the days gone by.

He took the coffee once she filled his mug, sipping it slowly as he leaned against the kitchen counter, his mind landing on their discussion the night before. "If you're worried about getting pregnant, we should probably purchase contraceptives."

"Ah...right..." she said, nearly choking on her own coffee, swallowing fast. _That_ was going to be an interesting (and embarrassing) trip to the chemists'.

"Something wrong?" He watched, making sure she didn't choke, his fingers tightening on his own cup slightly.

She flushed. "No, I'm just a ninny," she said, chuckling slightly.

"Hardly. I take it that is an uncomfortable subject for you"

"Well, not...not really. It's just...something I'm not used to doing," she said.

"Would it be easier if I went with you?"

"Oh...if you like," she says. _In fact, yes, it would be._

"All right then." He got his coat and scarf, waiting for her by the door.

The walk to the chemists' was short, and she went right over to the little case where the condoms were sold, her face bright red. She picked out the ones that looked like they would work for him (_large...good God_) and went to pay. She heard a step behind her and turned; it wasn't Sherlock...he was a few aisles over looking at the tabloids. This man was shorter and a little stockier. He leered at her. "Hullo, luv...need some help breaking those in?" he said, winking; Molly flushed an even darker red, trying to speak.

Sherlock glanced up as he heard Molly stutter. He saw the other man standing far too close, eyes deducing the rest. He strode over to them, hand landing very tightly on the man's shoulder. "You should step away. _Now_."

She flushed as Sherlock came to her aid. "Whatchu on about, mate? Not like she's yours," the other man said, his voice strident. Sherlock's grip tightened. "I think you'll find she is, you _vermin_, and if you know what's good for you, you'll stay away from her or you may just meet with an unfortunate accident. Now. _Get_. _Away_. _From_. _Her_."

The man shrugged his hand off and stalked away, muttering sulkily. Molly felt her heart flutter. "Ah... thank you," she said softly, blushing.

Sherlock glanced at her, his gaze softening but still fairly cold. "Of course." He took the condoms from her and paid, not blushing once as the cashier tried to flirt with him. Now it was Molly's turn to have her hackles raised. "Thank you for your help. We'll make good use of these," she said, blatantly taking Sherlock's arm, her tone icy. Sherlock glanced at her and back to the girl behind the register, the meaning behind her words finally clicking. "Ah," he said, letting Molly lead him away. "Well, that was less than pleasant."

She sighed. "Tell me about it. That...usually doesn't happen. I guess we're just unlucky today," she said, chuckling slightly.

"Or both look available. We-we aren't, correct? We're, I think the phrase is 'together,' yes?"

Her breath caught in her throat. "Ah... only if you want to be," she said. He took her hand, stopping on the sidewalk and kissing the back of it. "I think I would like that."

She could feel her entire body flush at his courtly gesture. "Oh, I know I like that," she murmured, hoping he wouldn't catch what she said. His lips twitched slightly, kissing her hand again, feeling his body start to heat up. "We should get you home-us home."

She nodded, leading him...home. As soon as the door to her flat closed, she just...looked at him. The pathologist could hardly believe he was here and that they were together. Her lips curled into a smile as she watched him hang up his coat; she walked up to him and wrapped her arms around him, resting her forehead on his broad back. He smiled, holding her hands where they came to rest on his stomach, starting to hum. She shivered lightly as she felt the vibration of his voice through his back and she pressed herself closer to him. "Hmm...you're good to cuddle with," she murmured absently.

"Interesting." He continued humming, swaying them side to side as he had done the night before. She laid light kisses along his spine, swaying with him, taking in his scent.

"May I have this dance, Molly Hooper?"

She started. "Oh! Yes, you may, Sherlock Holmes," she said. Then she bit her lip. "I'm warning you, though, I'm horribly clumsy. I apologize in advance for any of your toes that I may crush," she said.

"I think I can lead," he murmured, spinning and taking her hands, placing one on his shoulder and holding the other, his free hand going to her waist. Looking into her eyes, he smiled, picking a folk song from his childhood (Wild Mountain Thyme) and singing softly, slowly dancing with her. She felt her heartbeat speed up as he placed her hand on his shoulder, holding her other one, then moving a hand to her waist. They danced slowly to the sound of his music, and she was cautious of where her feet were to avoid any accidents. She nestled into him, listening to his heartbeat and the sound of his voice as it thrummed through her.

"Will you go, lassie, go, and we'll all go together to pull wild mountain thyme all around the bloomin' heather," he sang, drawing her close as she rested against him. She shivered lightly as his rich baritone voice wove itself around her, making her feel safe and secure and winding its way around her heart as well. He finished the song, the music transitioning to their chant, his arms wrapping around her as they turned.

She gasped as he moved from the folk tune to the chant he sang for her, pressing herself closer, winding herself around him. A soft "Oh.." escaped her, and she felt the hair on her arms and the back of her neck stand up. He smiled, knowing how much that piece affected her, the tune falling easily from his lips, hands rubbing circles on her back. Another shudder ran through her as he began rubbing her back. "Not fair," she panted softly. "You don't play fair..."

"What do you mean?" He raised an eyebrow. She looked up at him, her eyes half-glazed over. "You know what that does to me," she said simply.

Oh, yes, _Your touch undoes me_. "Well then," he purred, leaning down to kiss her. She moaned softly, her fingers winding their way through his dark curls and pulling him to her. He pressed her closer as his tongue explored her mouth, gently stroking the roof of it and eliciting a delicious moan. Her eyes rolled back into her head as his tongue worked its way into her mouth, exploring with ease. She broke so she could get a breath of air, panting already, before going right back in and kissing her way up his jaw, running the tip of her tongue along the whorl of his ear. He shuddered, whimpering softly, unable to move. "God, _Molly_," he breathed.

She chuckled lightly, giving his earlobe a nip before moving her way down his neck to lightly scrape her teeth where his pulse was strongest. He crushed her against him, pulling her off her feet and wrapping her legs around his waist, hands stroking her hair. She clutched at his shoulders before dragging her nails down his back, softly at first, then in earnest. He growled in her ear, nipping it before kissing her passionately again. "I need you-more of you."

"Then you need to put me down so I can give you what you need," she said, breathless. She loved this: driving him wild, _knowing_ that she drove him wild; the feeling of power was heady.

He grinned, kissing her as he lowered her to the ground, making sure she had her balance before letting go. She smirked as she backed a little ways away from him. She started to slowly undo the buttons of her blouse, one by one, before letting the cloth of her shirt drop off of her arms. She toed off her shoes and bent at the waist to take off her socks, then undid the button and zip of her jeans, slowly wiggling them off her hips. She was soon left in only her pants and her bra. "I think you can help me with these," she said softly, one corner of her mouth quirking up into a smirk. He swallowed, heat rising to his face as he followed suit but only managed to unbutton his shirt halfway. "I think I may need a hand."

She slunk over to where he was standing, pressing soft kisses to the exposed skin shown by his half-open shirt. She bent down, undoing one button with her teeth, then another, then a third. This continued until his shirt was all the way open and his abdomen exposed. She kissed the skin around his navel before sitting back on her heels. "Need any more help?" she asked, looking up at him, surreptitiously eyeing the bulge in his trousers. His breathing was ragged, eyes hooded with desire. In a flash, he was just in his pants, the rest of his clothes in a heap on the floor. Pulling Molly close, Sherlock kissed her deeply. "Do what you want with me."

She smirked. Slowly, she unclasped her bra and let it fall away. Then she pressed against him and slid down his body before kneeling before him. She slid his pants down until he could kick them off and took the tip of his manhood into her mouth, brushing it with her tongue before slowly moving down his length.

His whole body shuddered, his hands resting on her head. "_Oh Christ, Molly_," he moaned, her mouth hot and wet against him, the sensation almost overwhelming. He could feel his mind starting to short circuit and relax. She worked his length until she could sense he was at the brink then released him from the clinging grip of her mouth. She was fairly dripping as she slid her pants off. "Bed. Now," she growled, grabbing the package of condoms from their bag. The detective and the pathologist made it to the bed in record time. Molly started opening the box, but she stopped and grinned wickedly. "But first...your turn," she said, trailing her hand to her sex. She could hardly believe how...assertive she was being. This was a new experience for the shy, uncertain woman.

He'd been gripping her head so tightly that when she pulled off, he whimpered, extremely hard, barely able to comprehend her words as she dragged him to her room. He eyed her before climbing onto the bed, kissing his way down her chest until he reached her sex, kissing it gently, stroking it with his fingertips, glancing up at her to make sure he was doing it right She gasped and shuddered as he was gentle with her. "Harder..." she panted.

He pressed harder, fingers rubbing more forcefully as he kissed and licked, tasting her so intensely. She bucked her hips up into his mouth, her hands fisting themselves into his curls as she pulled slightly, her breath sobbing in her throat. All of a sudden, surprising herself, she came, clenching around his fingers, throbbing into his mouth and against his tongue. She cried his name, brokenly. He gasped, surprised, tasting her juice. _He_ had done that. "Interesting," he whispered, stroking her trembling legs gently.

She panted as her body tremored with the aftershocks. "God..." she breathed, staring up at the ceiling.

"Was that good?"

"That was _fantastic_." she said. She saw him, still hard. "Oh, it looks like you have something that still needs to be taken care of," she said, smirking. She opened the box of condoms, taking out one of the foil-wrapped squares. "Do you know how to put one on?" she asked him. He nodded, fumbling with it slightly before rolling it on, then groaning as he sheathed himself within her.

"Nnnh...oh, yes..." she gasped as he pressed himself inside of her. She bucked her hips once, twice, three times against him, gently. His moans dropped lower as his voice went to a mere growl. "You sure? You okay?"

She shivered as his voice dropped to a rumbling growl that she was able to feel inside of her. "Oh _God_, yes..." she panted. Jaguar trapped in a cello, indeed. He didn't take long to establish a fast rhythm, groaning and panting, already close, the buildup almost more than he could stand.

He set a hard pace and it wasn't long before she felt herself building up to a second peak. This one was more intense than the first and she soon lost herself, digging her fingernails into his back, leaving red trails as she dragged them down, crying his name; a prayer, a plea, an exaltation. He ground his teeth as his name was on her lips, such a heavenly sound. He pounded into her, crying her name when he finally came, pulling out as he went soft.

She heard him cry her name and it made that primal part in the back of her head howl with glee. _Mine_ she thought, holding him close as he pulled out of her and disposed of the condom. He pulled her close to him after cleaning up. "God, Molly, that-you-it was-"

She raised an eyebrow. "Yes?" she said simply, gently teasing him. He stopped, taking a breath to find the words, not used to being speechless. "Amazing."

She leaned in and kissed him, tasting herself on his tongue and lips. "So were you, love," she said after she broke it, resting her forehead on his. He felt so drowsy and content. "Just five minutes," he murmured, shutting his eyes.

She smiled and rubbed his back as he fell asleep, pulling the covers up around them both as the sweat dried on their skin. No nightmares, his sleep blissful and dreamless save for the music, the music in his head, his heart, surrounding him. She hummed one of the songs he'd sung to her (Wild Mountain Thyme) as he slept, encasing him in a full-body embrace, his head resting on her breast.

He could hear the words in his mind, trying to sing along but unable, surprisingly content to let the music soothe him, but he started to wake when it changed, the chant leading him back to consciousness. A smile tugged at his lips as he came around, finally able to hum along. She could feel him smile into her skin and the vibration of his voice as it joined hers. She stops. "Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you," she says quietly.

"No, I don't mind," he murmured, nuzzling against her gently, letting the warmth keep him calm. She ran her fingers through his hair, tracing the outline of his ear and trailing her fingertips down the back of his neck. The movement was almost absent-minded as she drew intricate patterns on his marble skin. He shivered, pressing closer. "That's wonderful," he whispered, kissing her chest.

She hummed in pleasure as he kissesd her chest, right above her heart. She continued with her pattern-drawing, the doodles forming slowly into words; 'Love', 'Peace', 'Joy', 'Contentment'. Then she started tracing poetry, changing it slightly to fit him: 'He walks in beauty, like the night...'

He read the words on his skin, each one making his chest grow warm until she started to recite and trace simultaneously. He felt his eyes prick with happy tears as he recited back, "A mind at peace with all below, a heart whose love is innocent..." (4)

She smiled. "I should have figured you'd know Byron," she said.

"Of course, school requirement." He thought for a moment, sifting through the things he had deemed worthy of remembrance, never having an excuse until now to use them. He settled on a poem, the words more intriguing before than the intent behind them; of course, now the intent mattered more than anything.

"O my luve's like a red, red rose.  
That's newly sprung in June;  
O my luve's like a melodie  
That's sweetly play'd in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,  
So deep in luve am I;  
And I will love thee still, my Dear,  
Till a'the seas gang dry." (5)

She flushed in pleasure, certain that she resembled a rose now with the blood pooling under her skin. She held him tightly to her, taking in his scent. The moment felt half-real, almost too idyllic to be true: Lovers reciting poetry to each other as they shared afterglow kisses, tangled up in each other's limbs, sweating each other's sweat, breathing each other's air.

"My Rose," he whispered, pressing kisses to her chest before brushing one against her lips. She had to swallow hard and blink away sudden tears. "My dearest love," she whispered back, kissing him softly. He felt his heart constrict, the kiss suddenly salty. He wrapped Molly in his arms, continuing to kiss her slowly and gently. Their slow kisses were soft and sweet, designed not to inflame but to endear, to strengthen the new bond they had. She cupped his face in her hands, brushing her thumbs along his cheekbones, feeling her heart beat for him. Only for him.

"I love you," he whispered into her mouth, stroking her hands with his, squeezing gently.

"I _love_ you," she whispered back. "I love _you_," she whispered again, pouring her soul into the words. No flowery sayings, no elaborations, nothing to embellish it. Just the stark truth, the truth she had known since he had asked her to help him three years ago.

"I never want to leave you."

Molly's breath left her in a sudden rush. She searched his eyes and his face and saw that he meant it. "Then stay," she murmured, feeling her heart stutter then sing out for him.

"I think I shall...if you want me...if you'll have me"

"Yes," she whispered, kissing his forehead. "Yes," she said, kissing both of his eyes and his cheeks. "Yes," she said, kissing his mouth, burning and sweet and accepting. "Always, Sherlock. Always."

Sherlock was crying now: joy, relief, love, acceptance. "You are the first, truly the first, to love me Molly." He kissed her back, his body on fire. She knew she was crying as well; she wiped his tears away with kisses. She breathed him in. "Thank you for letting me," she said.

He let her touch and kiss him, merely taking solace in her presence and feel and smell, every single caress She sighed deeply. "If I died now, I'd die happy," she murmured, holding him close. His hands held a bit tighter at that. "I think I'd be happy too if I were to die now, but not-not if-not without you."

She held him tighter as well. "Don't fret, love...I'm not going anywhere," she said, resting her head against his. He relaxed into her, molding his body to hers. "Don't let me go."

"Never," she breathed. Soon, she was lulled to sleep by his heartbeat and his breathing and his warmth.

(1)- "Now Westlin' Winds" by Robert Burns

(2)- Vespera (Te Lucis)- a common chant done in a Compline servise

(3)- The Latin translation of the English from Vespera (number 2)

(4)- She Walks in Beauty by Lord Byron

(5)- A Red, Red Rose by Robert Burns


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Assuaging Our Fears

They settled into a routine easily; working, eating, bathing, sleeping, making love...a full month of simple bliss, the two of them discovering a wonderful rhythm and harmony they shared, until one morning, Molly woke and the side of her bed that Sherlock occupied was empty. She furrowed her brow; he must have just gone to the bathroom. Or maybe he was in the living room, reading. He did that sometimes when he couldn't sleep. When she got up to investigate, though, he wasn't in either place. She started to feel a bubble of apprehension well up within her. She took out her phone and texted him.

_Where are you? -M_

Her blood ran cold when she heard his text alert for her sound; his mobile was on the kitchen counter next to a cold mug of coffee. She began to pace; they hadn't been apart since his return.

Minutes turned to hours. Hours turned to days. She barely ate or slept; when she _did_ sleep, her nightmares came back, except this time, they were full of Sherlock sneering, denying that he loved her, telling her she didn't count, before he jumped off the roof of Bart's.

oOoOo

Two weeks. He'd been trapped for two bloody weeks. He'd missed someone _obviously_, but now he had enough pieces to put it all together. Waiting for the opportune moment, Sherlock finally made a break for it, taking out the entire cell of the operation in the process. Exhausted, drained, battered, sliced up, bloody, and bruised, he went to to Mycroft. When he turned up on his brother's doorstep, he thought the politician was going to kill him.

"Where the HELL have you been?" Mycroft thundered at him. It was one of the few times he had ever raised his voice at Sherlock. "Do you have any idea what you've been doing to the woman you profess to love? She's been here every day, absolutely frantic. She went to Lestrade and sent the police looking for you. She thinks you left her, she thinks you are _dead_, Sherlock!"

The detective stood there silently as Mycroft berated him, self-loathing coursing through his veins. "I. Missed. One," he ground out through clenched teeth. "I got up to check for the paper, and they snatched me before I could do anything, drugged me up, kept me locked up, battered me around until I finally, _finally_ managed to get away today, to come home. I never left her, Mycroft, but I can't go back to Molly yet, not like this. I'll be lucky if she takes me back now."

The elder Holmes took a deep breath, closing his eyes. When he let it out, the anger drained from his body and left him old and weary. "Get cleaned up as quick as you can and then go. She loves you, Sherlock...she'll take you back. Go to her," he said, before turning away to gaze out the window.

Sherlock stood there for a moment before finally turning and obeying his brother, taking one of the longest showers of his life to wash the worst of his ordeal from his skin. Cleaned up of blood but still sporting several cuts on his face and innumerable bruises and cuts on his body, he dressed in a set of spare clothes Mycroft had for him in case of an emergency before he headed back to the flat, standing outside the door for ten minutes before gathering up enough courage to knock.

Molly started out of the stupor she'd been in when she heard the knock at the door. She rose and wandered from the couch, opened it, and saw Sherlock. She said nothing, merely moving away so he could walk in. Still saying nothing, she returned to the couch and sat. The pathologist began to shake, wrapping his dressing gown tighter around her as if it were a suit of armor.

Her silence was worse than the abuse he'd already suffered. He shut the door and followed her, noticing the dressing gown. _Oh, God, what I have I done?_ He hesitated before sitting on the other end of the couch, not moving, not speaking.

Finally, she spoke. "_So_..." she said softly. This was the only word she spoke, the meaning of it layered. _So_, you're back. _So_, you're not dead. _So_, have you come to collect your things and leave? _So_, do you have ANY idea what you have done to me? _So_, do you know how scared I've been? _So_, do you know that I haven't eaten or slept for the past three days? _So_, do you know that my nightmares are back?

He started to cry. No sobs, no declarations or professions. Just tears. Exhaustion and relief and terror and god she was okay, they hadn't hurt her, she was safe. She'd always been safe. "_So_..." _So_, I'm back. _So_, I'm alive. _So_, I've come back to stay if you can ever forgive me. _So_, I've come to make things right. _So_, I need you to put me back together. _So_, I need you to let me back in.

She finally looked at him and saw the tears falling down his face, the cuts and the bruises. Her heart wrenched and twisted; she was next to him before she could blink twice, her fingers ghosting over the wounds she could see. "Oh, my dearest love, what have they done to you?" she whispered. Then she was holding him as tight as she could, trembling all over like an aspen leaf, sobbing though her heart would break. "You're back...you're alive..." she managed to choke out. He winced as she touched his wounds, aching and sore. "My Rose..." was all he could say for a long time, slowly clutching at her, tears still silent, his body shaking as she trembled against him. "I'm sorry...I'm so, _so_ sorry..."

Finally, after a long, long while, her wild sobs trailed off to shuddering little cries and heavy breaths. The days of no food and no sleep were catching up with her. "I've finally lost it...I'm starting to hallucinate that he's back..." she muttered to herself, half-delirious.

He gasped, grabbing her arms hard, not caring if he left bruises. "No! You aren't allowed to do this to me, not when I made it back, not when I managed to survive and return to you. Molly, it's me, it really is me, I swear it. I swear it on the fact that you do matter and always have."

"Not fair...I'm dreaming and it hurts," she said, sounding somewhat like a petulant child, curling into herself. Panicking, going out of his mind, he kissed her, almost sobbing as he tried to prove he existed, that he was real She made a small, strangled noise as he kissed her, the tears on their cheeks mingling. A small bite to her lip from him snapped her back to lucidity. She pushed him away so she could breathe, just staring at him, eyes wide and wild, panting. "Sherlock..." she breathed, hardly daring to hope.

_Oh dear God please_ "Yes, yes Molly, yes my Rose?"

She reached out a trembling hand and touched his cheek. "Sherlock...my dearest love..." and then she was all over him, kissing him like she was drowning and he was the air she needed to breathe. Now it was his turn to gasp for air, trying to remember to breathe through his nose and inhaling tears for his trouble. It was frantic and messy, tears and saliva everywhere, Sherlock trying to hold her but she was moving too fast, to erratic for him to comfort her. He eventually submitted, kissing her when her lips met his, letting her reclaim him, convince herself once more that he was indeed real. Finally, she was satisfied he was real, and she collapsed on him, breathing hard and burning with a fever brought on by lack of food and sleep. "Stay...don't leave me again...stay..." she begged, her skin on fire.

"Come on," he said, picking her up; she was too light. "Shit," he cursed, rushing her back to their room, the place a disaster. He pulled the sheets up and laid her down. "5 minutes, I'll make you tea and food. Don't move."

" ...'kay..." she said faintly. Everything was dancing back and forth and around, just like they danced that one day. He burned his hand making tea, barely able to keep the toast from burning as he smeared it with jam and grabbed her a banana, taking it all back and sitting next to her, propping her up against his chest. "Eat this." Banana first, then a few sips of tea, slowly putting the food and liquid in her, praying her temperature would drop and that she wasn't seriously ill. She was barely able to eat the entire banana, but she drank all the tea. She pushed away the toast, too much, too fast. If she ate it, she'd get sick and ruin his hard work. Now she was just bone-weary, feeling like she'd been hit by a truck and run over by a tank. "Shr'lck...m' tired," she slurred, fisting her hands into the fabric of his shirt. "Stay...stay while 'm sleepin'."

He set the toast and mug and peel on the side table, drawing her in and cradling her like a child against his chest. "I won't leave. I won't go anywhere. I'm here, love, my Rose, I'm here."

Molly fell asleep, finally, to the sound of his heartbeat and slept for nearly two days solid. She only woke up once so she could use the bathroom, eyes half-open, padding barefoot through the flat and nearly missing the toilet. When she crawled back into bed, she was taken in by the sensation of being held. In her sleep, she smiled.

Sherlock struggled with the situation for the two days she slept, daring to leave only to grab a bite to eat or use the restroom, occasionally opening the window because the room was very hot by the end of the first day (and it stank). She spoke often in her sleep but thankfully, there were no nightmares; she did sob at one point, grasping his hand so hard he feared his fingers might break before she relaxed, the dream moving on. When she did wake, he was thrilled but knew it wasn't for long as she was soon back against him, sleeping. On the third day, she blinked her eyes open blearily. "Shr'lck?" she murmured, half-fearing she had dreamed his return. He kissed the top of her head, shifting in his half-sleep. "Here."

She was fully awake now. "Sherlock!" she gasped, sitting up, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. She threw her arms around him and clasped her to him, taking deep breaths to stop herself from crying. "Oh god...you're here. Thank God you're here..." she whispered into his chest. His arms wrapped more tightly around her, hands rubbing small circles on her back in the place he knew she liked. "Shhhhh, love, it's all right."

She looked up at him even as she melted. "Where were you?" she asks, eyes full of fear and concern. He started to shake his head but knew she deserved the truth. "I missed one of Moriarty's men, and he took me...prisoner. His personal punching bag is more appropriate."

Her eyes went wide and she clung tighter to him as her breath left her in a rush. "Oh my dearest love..." she breathed, hardly able to get air into her lungs.

"Shhhhhhhhh." He just held her, knowing his presence would eventually be enough to comfort her. She wormed her way up out of his hold for a moment to cup his face in her hands and stared at him, eyes burning, as if to memorize his every feature: the little scar under his lip, the lines in the corner of his eyes, the structure of his jaw, the line of his throat, the curve of his eyebrows, the jut of his cheekbones, even his cuts and bruises. All were placed under scrutiny. He let her look, not moving, breathing slowing until it was barely detectable.

Slowly, gently, she moved forward, until her mouth was just barely pressed to his. The kiss was barely there, and yet, she felt it like someone turned on an arc reactor in her chest. He closed his eyes, lips soaking in the kiss, the feel. It was so pure and simple unlike the desperate kisses of the night before when he had tried to convince her he existed. Finally, she pressed her mouth more fully to his and breathed him in. Molly wrapped her arms around him and clung to him like a second skin, feeling his heartbeat against her chest. She broke the kiss and dropped her head against his shoulder, trembling slightly. He kissed the top of her head again, rolling on his back to make it easier for her to hold him.

"I thought I was going mad...I...I didn't hurt you, did I?" she asked quietly, praying that she hadn't done him any harm.

"No, you didn't hurt me Molly." His bruises had begun to heal and didn't pain him as much as before. She breathed a sigh of relief and the tension in her body drained; _that_ was the last thing she ever wants to do. "Good," she murmured.

He brought her down to kiss her gently, brushing her tangled hair behind her ears. She arched up slightly into the kiss then winced as his fingers hit a snarl in her hair. "Eurgh...I feel hideous," she said. "I should go shower...I can't remember the last time I bathed."

"I'll help."

She smiled against him. "Oh, that would be lovely," she breathed.

"Well, then, get up." He smiled up at her, planting a quick kiss on her lips.

She did, peeling the dressing gown and pajamas off of her, naked as the day she was born. She walked into the bathroom and caught a quick glimpse of herself in the small mirror over the sink, wincing. Her face was pale, there were dark circles under her eyes that made her look like she was punched and her lips were dry and flaking. How Sherlock managed to want to be around her was a miracle. She turned on the water to nearly as hot as it could go and stepped under the spray, gasping in pleasure as it hit her skin.

He stripped, chucking his clothes into a corner and stripping the bed, all the laundry landing in a pile. He headed to the bathroom, knocking on the door softly before entering. She turned and saw him, her breath catching in her throat as she took in the fading bruises and lacerations on his torso and legs and arms, across his back and shoulders as well when he turned to close the door. Her eyes filled with tears, and she quickly dashed them away. He glanced down and paled. "I-I'd forgotten they looked this bad."

She stepped from the shower and went to him, wrapping her arms around him and holding him so tight she could swear she could hear the breath being forced out of him. Then she pulled back and traced over the worst marks with her fingertips, her touch feather-light to avoid hurting him. He shuddered slightly, mostly because he hated what they'd done to him and in turn, her. "I-I'm sorry."

She reached up and placed her fingers against his lips to quiet him. "It's not your fault...it's theirs," she said, the vehemence in her voice surprising her. She placed her hand over his heart, feeling the soft thudding comfort her. He closed his eyes as she pulled him under the water, gasping as it hit his wounds. She took up the soap and lathered it between her hands; a cloth would be too rough, and she didn't want to risk re-opening any of his cuts. Molly rubbed her hands down his body, making sure to be gentle and clean everything thoroughly. She needed to do this, to reacquaint herself with his body, to solidify the fact that he was there.

He let his head roll back into the water, her touch more than soothing. He hissed slightly at the soap in a few places, but the heat of the spray relaxed his muscles and worked the worst of the tangles from his hair. She rinsed her hands and his body then reached for the shampoo, working it into his hair, moving her fingers in strong circular motions on his scalp and down the back of his neck. When she hit tangles, she gently finger-combed them out, making sure she didn't pull. Under the water once more to rinse, then she repeated the process with the conditioner, the familiarity of it making her smile. Once he was clean, he swapped places with her, repeating the process on her. He was as gentle as possible with her hair, the conditioner a bigger help than anything. He'd done this to her, his absence had done this. "I'm sorry for what this did to you."

"I..." she swallowed. Truth be told, she was ashamed of herself, of how she had acted. But, then again, she _had _thought he was dead. Two weeks he had been gone; they hadn't even been living together for very long. "I'm just glad you're safe, that you're back. That's all that matters to me," she said. He nodded, reading her quickly "Don't be ashamed, but don't do this to yourself again if-if anything should happen. Promise me you would move on and be happy?"

Her throat clenched at the thought. _If anything should happen_. "I...I'll try," she choked out, her eyes filling with tears. She had almost lost him, and she didn't want to think of it, of how she would cope if he actually...if he did...if... She swallowed hard again to keep down the tears. No more crying; time to be brave.

"It's all right to cry. Shoving them down will only make you ill."

She exhaled a shuddering, watery breath. Her shoulders shook, and she wrapped her arms around herself, feeling small and battered. He pulled her into a hug, standing them both under the water and making it a few degrees hotter and filling the room with steam. "Let it out. I've got you."

She choked out a sob that turned into a soft wail, the sound lost and hurt. She wept long and hard against his chest. He stood there with her until the water turned ice cold, causing both of them to shout and scramble to turn it off. "Let's get you dried off and dressed, love."

Molly nodded; she felt exhausted even though she'd slept for what felt like forever. She allowed him to wrap a towel around her and dry her off, feeling somewhat like a child. Sherlock dried himself off, shaking his hair to get the water out before going back to their room, pulling out a cute pair of new pajamas for her. Pink with roses, a one month gift he had been going to give her the morning he'd been taken. "For you."

She flushed, the roses on the pajamas, his pet name for her. She put them on and smiled, stroking the fabric slightly. It was soft cotton, warm and safe. Once he'd gotten dressed in comfortable clothes as well, she went over to him and hugged him, her arms meeting in the middle of his back. She knew that she was being clingy, but she didn't care; she needed to do this. Every small touch, every embrace was helping chase away the nightmares and the two weeks where she had nearly lost her mind. He knelt in front of her after a moment, burying his face in her stomach and kissing it, the fabric soothing on his skin, his damp hair leaving a small wet patch. She curled over him, hands in his hair, stroking it, holding him to her. She sighed, feeling much more at ease and at peace.

"Feeling any better?"

She nodded. "Much," she said softly.

"Good." He pulled her down to face him, taking her face in his hands and kissing her, really feeling her under his lips, pouring his love into it. She could swear that she felt the love that passed between them, both giving and taking. Molly didn't want to be anywhere other than this; not all the towers and palaces in the world could hold a candle to her little flat and Sherlock.

He slipped into her mouth easily, hands going to her back. He wanted her, needed her; he was desperate for her to know how much he loved her, to prove himself again but also to have her accept him once more. Their kiss went from being gentle to flaring with heat in seconds. His hands were on her back, pulling her closer to him, and his actions took on an air of quiet desperation. She met him and matched him, her tongue dancing with his.

Sherlock could feel his body burning, and he moaned against her, lips breaking the kiss to suck on her ear, to kiss the skin of her neck. She gasped, moving her hands under his shirt and caressing his skin softly, trailing her fingers over his nipples and feeling them peak under her touch. She knew he was bruised and battered, so she had to be gentler than they usually were when they made love.

"I want you Molly," he breathed, panting hard already. God, this always happened right after getting dressed. She didn't say anything; instead she shucked off the top to her pajamas and stared at him, her pupils dilated with lust, making her eyes look black. He kissed her breasts, fingers stroking the flesh gently before he sucked on a nipple, memorizing every single detail he could. She arched into him, letting out a short cry. His lover clasped his head to her breasts, panting softly. Encouraged, he sucked a little harder, hands going once again to her back, fingers gentle and slow. She shuddered and wound her fingers through his hair, gently tugging and pulling, loving the way it felt. He came up to claim her mouth, harder and more insistent now. "Condom."

She reached behind her and fumbled on the nightstand before finding the little foil-wrapped square and giving it to him, never breaking contact with his mouth. She only moved so she could slide her pajama bottoms off her hips and let them pool in a soft mass on the floor before gently kicking them aside. She was bare before him, and she burned like a torch. He tugged his trousers and pants off so he could slip the condom on-but she took it and put it on, and he was nearly undone by her touch. He pulled them both up onto the bed, kissing her hard before entering her slowly, the sensation after two weeks of absolutely nothing threatening to end him early.

She rolled the condom on to him; she wanted to touch him, _needed_ to touch him. Then they were on the bed and he was kissing her fiercely and pressing himself inside her and it was... "Ahh...!" she keened, nearly undone already. Having him inside her after his absence was indescribably good. He thrust a few times before rolling onto his back. "Make me come for you, Molly."

Her eyes flew open, wide and wild at his words. She _growled_. Make him come for her? She would do that _gladly_. She started rocking insistently against him, lifting herself almost all the way up off of him before seating himself in her again, squeezing him with her internal muscles. Then she slowed down, nearly stopping her movements, leaning down to trail her tongue from his ear down to his collarbones, placing soft kisses and quick bites along his skin. He writhed under her touch, every movement threatening to shut down his brain completely, the pressure and friction deliciously amazing until she almost stopped and he whined, the noises turning into whimpers as her lips and tongue and teeth made quick work of his skin. "Oh god _more_!"

She shivered as he begged. She set a punishing pace now, quick and hard, rocking on him, riding him like he was a prized racehorse. Finally, it was too much for her and she came, her eyes rolling back into her head, her fingernails digging into the skin of her thighs as she rippled around him. Sherlock's breathing was ragged, his vision tunneling and exploding a few seconds before she came, arching his back into her and crying her name over and over.

When she could see again, she reached down and dragged him into a sitting position, clutching him to her and holding him close as he was still sheathed inside of her. She kissed the top of his head. "My dearest love," she whispered as her heartbeat slowly calmed. He didn't pull out, nuzzling her shoulder, whispering "My Rose," over and over.

Molly could feel his endearments branding her skin, and she ran her fingers through his hair. She tilted his head up so she could give him a long, soulful kiss, one that made her breath run short and her heart pound. He drank her in, the slow burn and torture of the kiss heavenly. "I love you, Molly I really love you."

"And I love you...until the stars go dark and cold and the seas go dry," she said, breathless. (1)

"Thou art more lovely and more temperate" he whispered, lips barely touching hers. (2)

She bit her lip before taking the risk. "My master's eyes are nothing like the sun," she murmured. "If anything, thou doth teach the torches to burn bright." She knew she was mixing and matching her Shakespeare, but she didn't care. (3)

"From fairest creatures we desire increase, That thereby beauty's rose might never die." (4)

She took his lips with hers again in another soul-searing kiss. Finally, when she almost had no breath left in her lungs, she broke it, resting her forehead against his, panting softly. She felt incandescent, and it was wonderful.

"You're practically glowing," he said softly, smiling and kissing her quickly, a gentle caress. "'Tis I'll be there in sunshine or in shadow" (5)

She smiled at him before starting to sing softly...it may have been campy, it may have been trite, but it was true. "Never knew I could feel like this...like I've never seen the sky before. Want to vanish inside your kiss...every day I love you more and more. Listen to my heart can you hear it sing; telling me to give you everything. Seasons may change, winter to spring. But I love you, 'till the end of time. Come what may...come what may, I will love you, until my dying day."(6)

His eyes pricked with tears, her beautiful voice floating on the notes. "Until my dying day," he murmured, suddenly launching into song, one he'd been deliberately learning for her. "Softly, deftly, music shall surround you. Feel it, hear it, closing in around you. Open up your mind, let your fantasies unwind, in this darkness which you know you cannot fight - the darkness of the music of the night." (7)

"I feel the pull of your heart, I taste the sparks on your tongue, I see angels and devils and God when you come...on...hold on...hold on..." she sang softly, smirking slightly when she added a deliberate pause between words. (8)

"When I am down and, oh my soul's so weary; When troubles come and my heart burdened be; Then, I am still and wait here in the silence, Until you come and sit awhile with me," he replied, cock twitching in the pause she'd left. (9)

"Mmmm...yess. Step right off the page, into the sensual world," she breathed into his ear, grinning as she felt him twitch inside of her. (10)

"The sun goes down, the stars come out. And all that counts is here and now. My universe will never be the same. I'm glad you came," he whispered back, sucking on her ear gently. (11) She gasped, arching into him and purring.

"What, no comebacks this time?"

"The only comeback I'd have would be the one you take from me..." she said, slightly breathless.

He growled into her ear, sucking harder on her ear before pulling out, disposing of the condom and opening a new one before pinning her to the mattress and ravishing her mouth. She dug her fingernails slightly into his back and linked her ankles around his hips, humming into his mouth with pleasure, feeling herself heat up again. It didn't take long to grow hard for her, slipping on the new condom and entering her again, feeling her stretch to accommodate him and her heels dig into his hips, pressing him closer. "What can I give you, love?"

"Anything..." she gasped, feeling him settle, stretching her deliciously. She thought of a more specific thing. "_You_. That's all I need...you."

"Then you shall have me," he growled, thrusting fast and hard, kissing her deeply and forcing her into the mattress. She felt her breath leave her as he growled and set a fast pace, pounding her into the mattress. Oh, but this was new and it was _amazing_. It wasn't long before Molly was coming around him again, a short 'le petite morte' before he sent her spiraling into a third climax that had her screaming his name to the heavens and arching her back up so far, curling her toes, and clenching the sheets so tight she was surprised she didn't break something.

Sherlock grinned as she came fast, backing off for a few moments before redoubling his pace, coming with her on the third, his body shaking and spasming as he came again, his name screamed on her lips so wonderful and beautiful. She was gorgeous undone like this. Her heart was going like a jack hammer, her breath coming nearly as fast, her brain felt like mush, and she felt as limp as cooked spaghetti. "Oh. My. _God_." she breathed, resting her head on his shoulder as he lay on her after his peak, still twitching slightly within her. He grinned weakly, completely spent and limp, shuddering slightly. "That was..."

"Can't think of any words..." she said. "Other than...just..._hot damn_" she said, giggling. He chuckled, pulling out and disposing of the condom before snuggling back against her. "It also defies description for me."

She hummed in agreement before pressing herself against him, breathing in his scent.

"My love, my Rose," he murmured, holding her. "Won't you sing for me?"

She smiled against him. "Anything in particular you want to hear?" she asked him.

"Something about love, something that reminds you of me."

She grinned and had just the thing. "The book of love is long and boring; no one can lift the damn thing. It's full of charts and facts and figures and instructions for dancing. But I...I love it when you read to me. And you...you can read me anything. The book of love has music in it, in fact that's where music comes from. Some of it's just transcendental, some of it's just really dumb. But I...I love it when you sing to me. And you...you can sing me anything. The book of love is long and boring, and written very long ago. It's full of flowers and heart-shaped boxes, and things we're all too young to know. But I...I love it when you give me things. And you...you ought to give me wedding rings." (12)

Sherlock's lips twitched, and he sat up, looking down at Molly. "I have something for you"

She cocked her head to one side, an eyebrow quirked up. "Really?" she asked.

He nodded. "I've been thinking about it and I thought-thought it would be appropriate." He went to his side table, taking something out and hiding it behind his back. She sat up as well, her interest piqued, her heart suddenly beating in her throat for no reason.

He knelt on the floor

Her eyes went wide, as wide as they could go and she covered her mouth with her hands. Was he...?

Bringing up one leg so he was on one knee he held out the box to her, watching her face. She was frozen; she felt like time had stopped. "Sh... Sherlock?" she nearly whispered, hardly daring to believe it.

He popped the lid on the box. "Will you marry me?"

Her breath left her in a rush and tears began to pour down her face. "Yes...a thousand times yes... Oh my dearest, dearest love, _yes_," she said quietly, mouth stretched into a wide grin even as sobs shook her body. He slipped the ring on her finger quickly (a simple silver band with two sapphires on either side of a diamond) so he could hold her again, the tears puzzling him. She wiped her eyes (a gesture in futility as the tears just kept pouring out). "I'm sorry...I'm just...I'm so happy..." she said, holding him to her as tightly as she could.

They were drenched by the time she finished, Sherlock chuckling softly as he held her, rocking her back and forth and kissing the top of her head. When she finally had her tears under control and dried, she all but tackled him with a kiss, her mouth meeting his with a passion and a joy and a love that she prayed he could feel. She knocked him over, pressing him to the bed and he kissed her back with everything he had, a furious, hot tangle of lips and tongues, both moaning and sighing. Finally, she eased off, peppering his face with little kisses as the line of her body was pressed to his. "If you thought I was glowing earlier, I feel blinding now," she murmured to him.

He laughed as she kissed him. "You're radiant, love"

She looked into his eyes. "And so are you," she said. Molly had a sudden thought that froze her good mood. "Sherlock..." she said quietly. "We have to tell John."

He came crashing down off of his cloud to cold reality. "Right." _Fuck_. "Should have them over for dinner, I suppose. That's what people do, isn't it?"

She laughed uneasily. "Yes...but how do you go about telling your best friend, in front of his wife no less, 'Hey, I'm not dead and I used to be in love with you, but now I'm engaged to the woman who helped fake my death'?"

He glared at her, eyes cold. "I never said I had to tell him how I felt. We're just a young, happy couple finally together after an unfortunate absence that was deliberate in order to protect the lives of those closest to me."

She felt a chill run down her spine and cursed herself for her tactlessness. "I'm sorry," she said, lowering her eyes.

"It's fine." He brushed it off, gaze softening but eyes still far away. "You know I'll always love him too, don't you?"

She felt a slight sting. "Of course," she said softly. He caressed her cheek. "I love you too, you know, honest and truly, but it is still hard for me to think about John. You know that."

She nodded. "I understand."

He kissed her gently. "You'll be in my heart, no matter what they say, you'll be here in my heart, always." Her Disney infatuation was rubbing off on him. At that, she just _had_ to laugh. "Oh no...I've gotten you into Disney...send help!" she said through bursts of giggles, burying her face in his chest as she laughed. (13)

"You've got the blasted tunes embedded in my memory, and they refuse to be deleted!"

That made her laugh even harder. When her mirth eased off she looked at him and thought of a question, but she bit her lip and nuzzled his chest again instead of asking it.

"What?"

"Ah...I..." she couldn't believe it, she felt embarrassed! "Are...the times we make love...are they... 'deleted'? Or do you have those in your head in some sort of filing cabinet?" she asked in a rush, her face burning, not meeting his eyes.

"Molly." He tilted her face up to meet his gaze, concern in his eyes when she wouldn't look at him. "I don't delete those. Even if for some reason I wanted to, which I don't, they are too strong memories to be erased. And, I suppose you could think of my mind as a filing cabinet. Why not?"

She met his eyes, truly touched. Then she smiled. "The 'filing cabinet' was just an example...I think your mind is more like a...a supercomputer, with different servers and storage areas..." she says, doodling absent-minded patterns on his skin.

"Yes, that's decidedly more accurate," he said, smiling. He leaned forward and nuzzled her neck, kissing gently, singing softly. "Oh my love is like a red, red rose..." (14)

She felt goose bumps rise on her skin as he nuzzled into her neck and started singing _her_ song. She stroked her fingers through his hair and sighed happily, perfectly content.

He purred softly, finishing the song. "Now you. I love your voice, you know."

She chuckled softly, thinking for a moment of what to sing for him. The idea came to her; it was short and simple but one that she loved all the same. She lifts her voice in song; "Praise God from whom all blessings flow. Praise Him, all creatures here below. Praise Him above, ye Heavenly hosts. Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Amen." Her voice moved confidently and easily through it, recalling the tune out of years of long practice. (15)

He hadn't heard that song since he was a boy, forced to go to worship by his parents, but from her lips, it was beautiful, unique and nuanced. She smiled softly at him, watching the patterns that the sun through the window made on his marble skin. She pressed a kiss to his shoulder, connecting two patches of sunlight with her lips. He just looked at her, letting her bring him back to the real world, to reality from the dark place he'd almost gone. "What shall I sing for you, my Rose, hmmm?"

She smiles against his skin. "You can sing me anything," she said.

"Yes, but there must be something. I'm sure you've introduced me to enough things recently that you have a preference?"

Molly chuckles. "It honestly doesn't matter; just the fact that it's you and that you /want/ to sing for me is enough," she says.

Sherlock thought, brain running through its swiftly growing store of songs, knowing that this one would really pull on Molly's heart, changing the words slightly to fit her.. "All those days chasing down a daydream, all those years living in a blur. All that time never truly seeing things, the way they were. Now she's here shining in the starlight. Now she's here, suddenly I know If she's here it's crystal clear I'm where I'm meant to go-" (16)

She laughed even as touched tears fill her eyes. Disney. She really _had_ gotten to him. He smiles, her laugh making his own heart feel strange, _Love_, he thought. She nuzzled into him, feeling her heart spill over. She had never felt this happy or content, ever. She only hoped he felt the same. He sighed contentedly. "We're going to get married."

She grinned. "I know..." she whispered happily.

oOoOo

There are a bunch of references and quotes here. When writing, we kind of descended into a battle of who could pick the best quote for the situation and just kept on going. If you didn't know them or missed them, here they are. R&R please!

1- _A Red, Red Rose_ - Robert Burns

2- _Sonnet 18_ - Shakespeare

3- _Sonnet 130, Romeo and Juliet_ - Shakespeare

4- _Sonnet 1_ - Shakespeare

5- _Danny Boy_ - Irish Folk Tune

6- _Come What May_ - Moulin Rouge

7- _Music of the Night_ - The Phantom of the Opera

8- _Come on get Higher_ - Matt Nathanson

9- _You Raise Me Up_ - Josh Groban

10- _The Sensual World_ - Kate Bush

11- _Glad You Came_ - The Wanted

12- _The Book of Love_ - Peter Gabriel

13- _You'll Be in My Heart_ -Tarzan

14- _Robert Burns_ -A Red, Red Rose

15- _Doxology_ - Hymn 100

16- _I See the Light_ - Tangled


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5: Dinner and Disaster

Two days passed, two days to let everything sink in before Molly found herself in front of John's door again, Sherlock notably absent, ringing the bell. She took a deep breath as John answered, smiling hesitantly at her. "Well, hello Molly."

She smiled back. "Ah...hello, John! I...well, I was wondering if you and Mary wanted to come over for dinner soon," she said, fiddling nervously with the edge of her shirt; a bad habit that she had never managed to get rid of.

"Yeah, that'd be lovely. Any particular-" He noticed the ring. "Oh my god, you're engaged! Who's the lucky chap? Do I know him?"

She chuckled nervously. "Ah...you could say that," she said. She wondered what his reaction would be when he found out that it was Sherlock Holmes of all people.

"Who then? I'm dying to know? Or are you going to wait and announce at dinner?"

"The latter; just...ah...tell me when's a good date and time for you both, and I'll set it up," she said. She almost smiled, feeling giddy. It was a little...fun, keeping John in the dark about this.

"Uhhh," John stuck his head back into the apartment. "Darling, what's this week look like?" A muffled response and he looked back at her. "Friday all right?"

"Friday should be fine. 6:00 good for you?" she asked. His eyebrow quirked. "6:00 is good. Should we bring anything? Wine perhaps?"

"No, just yourselves is enough," she said, smiling. It would be good to have them all together, even if she was dreading it slightly.

He nodded. "See you then."

oOoOo

"Sherlock, if you pace any more, you're going to fall through the ceiling in the flat below us," Molly said as she worked with the food. "John and Mary won't be here for another half an hour. Relax."

He took another deep breath, striding back to the kitchen. "I'm sorry-I just-I just can't keep still."

She smiled in sympathy. "I understand," she said softly. He had been a mess of nerves ever since she'd come home and told him that they were coming over.

"Can I help? Do something? _Anything._"

She glanced around the kitchen. "Right...you can start cutting up the vegetables for the salad; there should be tomatoes, a cucumber and a pepper or two in the crisper," she said as she worked with the chicken and potatoes that were in the oven.

He grabbed them, pulling over the cutting board and slicing them with scientific precision. He was done in less than five minutes. "There."

She blinked; that was _fast_. "Okay...ah...well...that was really all that was left; the chicken and potatoes are cooking, and all there is to do is wait for them to be done," she said, going over the mental checklist she had. He nodded, fiddling with his hands and shifting his weight. "Help," he whispered, panic rising in his chest. Molly went over to him and hugged him tight. "Dearest love, you'll be _fine_. He's your best friend, he'll be happy for you," she murmured, feeling his heartbeat thundering in his chest. Sherlock wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer. "But what if it isn't? What if he's still upset with me?"

Molly bit her lip. She had thought of that. "Then...we deal with it as it comes," she said. She hoped that John would be happy for the both of them. He nodded again. "Kiss me please. I need it-you-it. Make me forget for a minute."

She smiled and pulled his head down to hers, pressing her mouth to his, moving her lips gently in a sweet kiss that she hoped calmed him. He breathed deeply through his nose, focusing solely on the touch to shut out everything in his brain, deepening it slowly, pressing one hand in the small of her back to keep her close. She wound her fingers into his hair, making a small contented noise in the back of her throat. He moaned into her mouth, stroking her tongue with his, breathing in her scent. Her tongue danced with his, tasting him, comforting him, reassuring him. She loved that she could do this for him, that he needed her.

"How long do we have?"

She glanced at the clock; it was five forty-five. "Not long enough for what you're thinking," she said ruefully. He groaned. "Then I'll just kiss you into oblivion for the next few minutes."

She chuckled. "I can deal with that," she said, before kissing him again. He tugged her up, wrapping her legs around his waist as he slid his hands up and down her back, devouring her mouth. She clung to him, purring as his hands rubbed her back. She gently tugged his hair with one hand as her other hand dug her fingernails into his shoulder.

After a moment he moved his lips to her neck and ear, kissing but not nipping or sucking, not wanting to mark her to visibly. She shivered as he pressed gentle kisses to her neck and ear, instead of biting her like he usually did. She smiled; he didn't want to leave marks. Although, truth be told, she wouldn't have really minded all that much.

_Finally_, he could feel his body relax, and he set her down before he accidentally dropped her; that would not go over well. Pressing a final kiss to her mouth, he whispered, "Oh, my sweet Rose, I _love_ you."

"And I you, my dearest love," she murmured back as he set her down gently. She could feel the tension draining out of him and smiled. He kissed the top of her head and checked the clock. "Five minutes" he said, feeling his stomach clench slightly. She nodded and jumped slightly as the oven timer went off. "Perfect timing," she said as she went to take the chicken out of the oven. She had just set it down to cool when there was a knock on the door. She glanced at Sherlock. "I'll go get it," she said, when she saw his eyes go wide and he swallowed, tensing up again. She walked over, taking a deep breath before she opened the door. "John, Mary! So lovely to see you! Come in, come in," she said, smiling at the both of them as the married couple walked in.

John smiled at her, giving her a hug and a peck on the cheek before handing her a bottle of red. "Couldn't resist and Mary insisted. So, where's the lucky bloke?"

Sherlock was hiding in the doorway to the bedroom, forcing himself to stay calm as he listened to the introductions. Molly took the bottle of wine and the embrace and quick peck from John as Mary took their coats. He asked where the 'lucky bloke' was, and she took a deep, steadying breath. _Moment of truth_. "Sherlock, could you come in here, please? John and Mary are here," she called.

John froze, eyes wide as Sherlock came out from the bedroom, making a beeline for Molly. Sherlock wrapped his arm around Molly's waist, squeezing gently and taking a deep breath before looking up at the couple. "Hello, John. Mary."

She rested her hand on Sherlock's arms that were wound around her waist. "Well...ah...Sherlock and I are engaged," she said quietly, noting John's wide eyes. This wasn't going to go well, she could tell. Sherlock forced his face into a mask, a neutral mask so John couldn't tell what he was thinking. "We are," he agreed quietly, voice surprisingly steady.

John's face turned from shocked to disbelieving to angry. "What the hell?" he asked, keeping his voice carefully low, but intense. "You're dead for three years, then you come swanning back in, showing up on my doorstep, and now you've shacked up with...with her? What the _FUCK_, Sherlock?" He was yelling now. Molly felt Sherlock stiffen behind her, and she couldn't help but hate John at the moment.

"You are going to lecture _me_?" Sherlock's voice was low, almost deadly. "Yes, I showed up on your doorstep, I thought you might like to know I was no longer deceased; perhaps I was wrong. And Molly-well Molly's been the best thing I could have asked for, and since you were decidedly _unavailable_, I took advantage of the opportunity to try and start fresh. If you have a problem with that, you can get out and take your hussy with you!"

Molly turned, staring at Sherlock, working her way out of his arms. "SHERLOCK!" she exclaimed. "You can be angry with John, but leave Mary out of this! She wasn't done anything wrong!" However, something that he said stood out in her mind... 'since you were unavailable, I took advantage of the opportunity to try and start fresh.' That...that stung. That _hurt_. She was...she was a replacement. John's face went red with rage, and he punched Sherlock in the jaw, knocking him to the ground. "Don't you DARE talk about my wife like that!" he roared. "Mary, we're leaving," he said to his wife who was standing there, watching, wide-eyed. He took their coats and stormed out, slamming the door behind them so hard that plaster was shaken from the ceiling above them.

Sherlock's head hit the floor, stunning him, his jaw stinging and aching from the punch. John _hated_ him. John hated _him_. And his hussy remark had been perfectly in line; from what he'd seen, Mary had been married several times already, John just another notch in her lipstick case. Sherlock's eyes burned with tears as he lay there, suddenly realizing that Molly wasn't rushing to his side or helping him up. John's rage-contorted face burned into his hard drive, Sherlock opened his eyes and struggled to sit up, head spinning.

After a moment, Molly went to help Sherlock to his feet. She was still reeling from what had just happened; everyone was so angry. She remained quiet, the remark that he had made about John being unavailable and taking the opportunity to start fresh still stood out in her mind. It felt like a slap to the face and a punch to the gut.

"Thank you," he whispered, gingerly moving his jaw. Once he was on his feet, she wound up and slapped him hard, her eyes brimming with tears. "I can't believe you," she said, her voice shaking. "I. Can't. BELIEVE. You. I...I don't even know what to think right now. You go and insult your best friend's wife in front of him? I thought you wanted to patch things up. And...oh god. I'm...I'm a replacement for him. That's all I am to you..." she said, feeling hurt. Feeling worse than hurt; she felt betrayed and used and...utterly heartbroken.

She had managed to get the slap perfectly on the spot where John had punched him, wounded on the face by the two people he loved. He ground his teeth in frustration as his skin and muscle and bone burned. "I did, but then he decided to give into the urge to be a judgmental Neanderthal, and I was completely justified in my word choice. She's a divorcee, at least three times." Then the second part of her words sank in. "You are not a replacement, Molly," he added quietly.

"Really? Then what was all that about him being 'decidedly unavailable' and you wanting to take the opportunity to try and start fresh? You _know_ that if you went back and talked to him, he'd be solving crimes with you again in a heartbeat. Am I just some...experiment, then? Just some test subject?" she said, tears pouring down her face. God, everything _hurt,_ and she felt sick.

"He hates me, Molly, and he's married. He wouldn't go back to life with me; I lost that when I pretended to die. I was trying to make him feel guilty. I was...angry. I just-you aren't an experiment. Even with my many talents, I'm not a good enough mimic to fake what I have with you. I wouldn't know where to begin. Molly, _no one_ was ever loved me before." Her tears frightened him, her sorrow and hurt clear. He'd gone and destroyed everything once again, and now he'd have to leave, probably live with Mycroft. He was going to lose everything, all because of his inability to say the right thing _again_.

"Not a good enough mimic…so I'm just practice for you until you are. I see," she said. And when he _was_ good enough, what would happen then? Molly swallowed hard and, confused, _angry_. She grabbed her coat. "I'm going out for a while. I need to clear my head," she said quietly as she grabbed her coat.

Sherlock's eyes went wide; she was leaving him. He'd really gone and blown it. "Molly-"

"I'll be back later," she said as she headed out the door. Everything was swimming around in her head, her throat was tight and her heart was heavy; she didn't even take her purse or keys with her.

"Molly!" His hands hit the door as it slammed in his face. Sherlock stared at the door, tears finally breaking free. He didn't make a sound, didn't throw a fit, but he certainly wasn't hungry anymore. Distraught and empty inside, he went to his violin, letting the cool wood and varnish of his Stradivarius try to soothe him. He lifted the instrument to his shoulder and began to play, his heart bared through the music. He lost track of time, sliding from one song to the next effortlessly, pouring everything he had into the haunting, mournful melodies.

oOoOo

Molly didn't know how long she wandered the streets of London. She cursed as she tripped at one point and fell, skinning her knee and tearing the palms of her hands raw and bloody against the concrete; the pain and sting barely even fazed her. Finally, she heard some distant church bell chime the hour of nine. She looked up, surprised to discover she was actually near her flat; she had been wandering in circles. She sat on the front stoop and just thought, her breath forming swirls and patterns in the chill of the early spring night air. It was only when the same church bell chimed ten thirty did she unbend herself from her sitting position, her joints creaking in protest, her teeth chattering with the cold, and go in. The door to her flat was still unlocked and she could hear violin music coming from inside. She pushed the door open and walked in, swallowing hard. Time to face the music, literally.

Sherlock didn't hear the door, lost in his sadness, in the sound of the instrument as he tried desperately to heal himself. Dinner was cold and untouched, and his legs probably ached but he didn't care. His fingers were raw from the strings but he kept playing, the pain reassurance that he was still alive, despite the gaping, self-inflicted, emotional wound in his chest.

She hung up her coat; he didn't even acknowledge her, which made her heart hurt. She wandered into the kitchen and started putting the food away, everything untouched. She let out a gasp of pain as the metal of the pan hit a piece of gravel that was embedded in her hand from where she fell earlier. She hadn't even noticed before; her hands looked like someone had run a cheese grater over her palms, bits and pieces of rock were stuck in them, and there was blood still slowly oozing from some spots. She went over the sink and turned on the water to wash them out, hissing as it hit her torn skin.

It was Molly's gasp that shocked him out of playing, the bow screeching to a halt on the strings. Sherlock's head whipped around as he realized she was there, that she had come back. Setting his precious instrument down, he almost ran to her, skidding to a halt when he saw her hands and knee. "Will you let me help?"

She merely looked at him. Finally, she nodded. She didn't want to talk to him at the moment. She still loved him, but he had hurt her. He gingerly took her hands, examining the wounds, now clean. One glance at her knee told him it was going to hurt. He led her to the bathroom and retrieved the first aid kit. He took down the showerhead and held it in his hand. "This will sting, but please get in the shower."

Wordlessly she did, taking off her shoes and socks and rolling up the legs of her jeans, wincing as the cloth pulled away from the skin where the blood had dried and stuck to it. Sherlock turned the water on cool, the spray as gentle as he could make it before letting the water run over her knee.

She let out a gasp and a hiss, her teeth clenched. The water swirled pink down the drain and she bent to pick the larger pieces of gravel out of the wound. He caught her hand. "Let me." He worked swiftly, easing them out and washing the smaller pieces away until the wound was clear. "Sit down," he murmured, gesturing to the toilet so he could kneel and bandage her properly as he shut off the water.

She took her hand out of his grasp. She didn't want to be touched; not right now. She sat. Still silent, still angry, still sad. It shouldn't have hurt so much but it did. He took out the antiseptic cream and gently worked it into he knee, careful now not to touch her unless he absolutely had to. The antiseptic stung. Her eyes watered, and that let loose the floodgates. One tear, two, three... then a veritable rain of them, falling from her eyes to drip off her chin and hit the thighs of her jeans and soak into the fabric of her shirt.

He got out the gauze and wrapped it tight, securing it with tape and pins before he looked up. She was sobbing, shoulders shaking but not making a sound. "_Molly_..."

She continued to weep, him saying her name like that...it just hurt even more. _Everything_ hurt. She could tell that he was hurting as well, there was an impressive bruise to his jaw, livid on his pale skin, and his eyes...damn his eyes for being so expressive. He wanted to wipe the tears away but knew she'd reject him, so instead, "Palms up, please," he whispered.

She did so, sobbing harder. Her hands trembled. He worked quickly again until both her palms were disinfected and bandaged, letting her hands go as soon as he was done. "I'm sorry."

Finally, _finally_, she spoke, her voice clogged with tears. "So am I."

Relief flooded through him. "Tell me what I can do, what I can say, how I can avoid hurting you like this again. I can't stand to see you in this much pain. I-I can't go through this again."

She looked at him. She couldn't pick out her thoughts; there were so many, and they were all tangled and knotted up with each other. She was still angry at him, and still very hurt. "Don't treat me like a replacement. I...I can't bear that. I'm not an experiment or a test subject. God knows you've played with my heart enough before this; if...I don't know what would happen if..." she trailed off. If you stopped. If you left. If you _lied_.

He gazed at her, searching in her eyes as she spoke. "You were _never_ a test subject, and you aren't a replacement. I-" he sighed, "I never thought I would feel about anyone the way I do...the way I _did_ about John, but I do about you."

She let out a long, shuddering sigh that felt like it was wrenched from the bottom of her. She rested her head against his shoulder; she felt weary, old as the stars, and bitterly cold. She was touching him. He thought his brain would short circuit as he tentatively lifted his hand to her head, stroking her hair. "I'm so, so sorry, my Rose. I'm such an imbecile."

She merely nodded, suddenly too tired to think, too tired to do anything. He was warm and he was close and she was so _cold_...why was she so cold? _Oh right...wandering around the streets of London for hours with your jacket open, not the best of ideas, you dolt._

He felt her shiver, pulling back and taking her arms in his hands, concern furrowing his brow before feeling her forehead. "You're burning up"

Her brow furrowed and her teeth chatter. "R-really? I'm f-freezing," she said. He fumbled for the thermometer, sticking it under her tongue. One minute later "102.4" His eyes widened. "You're going to bed. Now."

She nodded, too tired to argue. She picked herself up with an effort and started to walk to the bedroom, but suddenly everything was dancing; the world spun underneath her, and she stumbled and fell, landing hard.

He missed catching her, cursing himself under his breath as he scooped her up in his arms, carrying her to their room. He sat her on the bed and stripped her carefully, gently tugging on the pink rose pajamas before scooping her up again and turning down the blankets, setting her down gently and tucking her in. "I'll get you some water," he said, turning to go. She nodded, falling into a fitful half-sleep almost as soon as her head hits the pillow.

He retrieved the water for her, placing on her side table before going for a basin and a washcloth. He came back and sat next to her, placing the cold, wet cloth on her feverish head. The wet cloth felt lovely; everything was so hazy. She fell deeper into sleep, and with sleep, the dreams started.

_The rooftop of Bart's all over again, Moriarty, and Sherlock standing on the edge. Except Moriarty was more like a cardboard cutout this time; merely observing. Dream Sherlock looked at her, his eyes cold as she walked over to him, her face shining with hope and love. She reached for him.__  
_  
_"Don't touch me," he spat out, looking at her, disgusted. "The experiment is over. I have had my fill of this...sentiment, this thing called love. It is inadequate and dull, a mere cocktail of chemicals designed to make one weak. And sex is just as bad; I don't know how I managed to bring myself to do it..." he sneered at her as she felt her heart break and shatter within her, cocking his head to the side as if he could hear it. "Please...no..." she sobbed, reaching out to him. He recoiled from her touch and, as if to spite her, fell off the edge backwards. "Oh Molls... now I can have you all to myself," Moriarty's voice purred in that lilt that she once found so attractive. His hands wound their way around her throat. "And what fun we shall have," he said squeezing. Everything was going dark and it's hard to breathe, hard to get air into her lungs. _She choked and clawed at her neck, gasping, crying, pleading.

Sherlock recoiled from where he'd relaxed on her chest, scrambling to calm her down. She was still burning up. "Molly! _Molly_! Wake up. Oh please wake up." He'd heard enough from her murmurs to know she'd been back on the roof, but the look of terror in her eyes as they snapped open froze him in his place.

Her eyes flew open wide, and she scrambled away from him. In her delirium, he was Jim disguised as Sherlock. "Don't touch me...stay away...stay _away_..." she wailed, holding her hands out in front of her to ward him off. She was trembling, shaking. His heart broke to see her in such pain. "Molly, it's me, it's Sherlock-"

"_NO_! You're not him! Stop _lying_..." she cried, tears falling down her face, thick and fast. She was terrified, her heart beating like a rabbit's.

"Who am I then, if I'm not him?" _Don't say it, don't be that person._

She bared her teeth in a snarl. "Moriarty," she hissed, her eyes glazed over in fever and hate for a man now dead He stared at her before flying forward to clasp her to him, holding her as she thrashed. Her fever was higher, at least 104 if not 105; _that would explain the delirium_. He pressed her nose gently to his neck. "Smell, Molly, and then tell me that I'm him."

"Stop it, stop it! STOP! You're wearing his skin, you're going to hurt me again, stop... leave me alone... stop" she wailed thrashing against him, trying to push him away.

"Molly, you're delirious," he said firmly, holding her at arm's length. "You are my Rose, my love, my heart. I am Sherlock Holmes, I came back from the dead and fell in love with you. Moriarty is gone, love. He's never coming back."

She twisted away from him, scrambling to put as much distance between them as possible. "Liar, you're lying…" she said. "The eyes always watching, make them stop...I'm sorry...I tried to stop the fall, I'm sorry..." she babbled, covering her head with her arms as she curled up and tried to make herself as small as possible. Sherlock's face was sad as he stood, pulling the blankets over her and kissing her head, recoiling when she hit him but didn't move fast enough to escape her. She lashed out and struck him when he touched her. She was breathing hard, her face triumphant as he stood, sure she had beaten him. He looked down at her, gaze hardening. He could feel the words he wanted to say welling up inside, knowing they would destroy her if he let them out. he could only hope she wouldn't remember anything afterwards.

"Well then, Hooper, congratulations. You figured it out. Too clever for the great criminal mastermind after all," Sherlock sneered. "It was so easy to fool you, you being so desperate for attention and love from the one man who could never do it, who loved someone else. Sure he seemed to flirt with you, but he just dragged you along for the ride, ready to dump you tonight if John forgave him." The art was too easy to slip into, and Sherlock had a terrifying moment where he saw what he could have become reflected in her eyes. "He died that day, and I took his place, Hooper darling. You were blind because you wanted him, needed him, _loved _him even. But I've marked you now. You're _mine_ now. He never loved you, and he is never coming back!"

Everything went quiet. The blood drained from her face and her eyes went wide. Her breathing stopped. Her heart stopped. Her _everything_ stopped. One word...one word fell from her lips, so soft that it could barely be heard. "_No_..."

"Oh yes." Indulge the delirium so she would tire out and sleep, but Sherlock didn't know how much longer he could hurt her like this. "I'll do what I like with you, flower, and you can't fight back."

She took a breath, couldn't. Tried again, couldn't. She was reminded of the time she jumped off the swing set when she was seven and landed on her back, the wind knocked out of her. He took a step towards her. Then another. "I can hear your heart, smell your fear. You are so transparent, you little insect."

She was rooted to the spot, paralyzed with terror. Then something else bloomed under it; rage. "Give him back..." she said quietly. "Give. Him. BACK!" she snarled, eyes blazing.

"Or what?"

She rummaged around in the bedside table; there was a knife there that she'd started keeping there after she had been told that Jim from IT was a crazed master criminal. She held it to her own throat. "Or you'll lose your plaything," she said. He panicked "Ok! I'll-I'll give him back. Don't-please don't. I'm going to leave the room and send him in. Will that work for you?"

She nodded, pressing the blade closer to her skin, breaking some, feeling a line of blood crawl its way down her throat. "Back out of the room facing me. Send him in. If you try to fool me, I _will_ know," she said darkly. This wasn't a threat, it was a promise. She _would_ get her dearest love back. Even if she had to kill herself to find him. This, to her fever-addled mind, made perfect sense.

"Just so you know, he will look the same," Sherlock said, backing up and opening the door, the red line at her throat terrifying him more than he'd ever thought it would. She bared her teeth. "I know. Get out of my sight, _filth_," she hissed.

The words burned as he shut the door, collapsing outside it as his legs give out. He sobbed for a moment, head in his hands before calling, "Molly? it's me. It's Sherlock. Jim just let me go...can I come in?"

She paused for a moment. "Come in," she said cautiously. He entered the room and she cocked her head to one side, birdlike, scrutinizing him. He was still crying as he looked at her, self-loathing coursing through him. "Are you all right?

The knife still to her own throat, she walked over to him, taking in every minute detail. After a very long moment, the pathologist nodded, satisfied. This was her dearest love, her Sherlock. She let the hand holding the knife drop, let the knife itself drop, and she leaned into his chest, taking in his scent. It was _him_. Jim had been good on his word. She let out a long, shuddering breath. He wrapped his arms around her, sobbing into her hair, clutching her close as he kicked the knife away, whispering her name over and over and feeling for all the world as if Jim truly had kidnapped them both.

She held him tightly. "I did it..." she said in astonishment. "I...he let you go. I _made_ him let you go..." she said. She started to cry. "Oh god, you're back...you're here and you're safe and you're _mine_...my dearest love..._my_ Sherlock" she breathed between sobs.

"My Rose, my love, my Rose," he whispered, "You did. You set me free. You brought me back. I am safe, I'm here, I'm yours." He stroked her hair, checking her temperature: still hot but not as bad as before. "Your fever is dropping."

She nodded, half-hearing him. She was worn out from the fever and from the nightmares, from exorcising her old demons. It was a wound long in need of cleaning, one that had festered. He led her back to the bed, tucking her in again and placing the cold, wet cloth to her brow. Again, the wet cloth felt amazing. She grabbed at the hem of his shirt. "Stay...please stay," she begged in a whisper. She couldn't have him gone, not now. She _needed_ him. Sherlock climbed over her to curl up next to her, drawing his fiancée close. She was still burning, but against his cold body, she was a blessed relief. "I won't go anywhere."

She let out another shuddering breath. "Good," she said fiercely. And with that, she slept. It was a dreamless sleep, one without nightmares, one without pain or fear or loss, a cleansing sleep, a healing sleep. He didn't rest but watched her sleep, terrified of his own nightmares. He changed the cloth a few times as her fever finally went down, waking her when it broke. "You need to drink this," he said, holding the water to her cracked lips. Tiredly, she took the cup. The water was a blessing to her parched throat. She felt sore and bruised, like she'd been kicked down a flight of stairs. When she was done with the water, she snuggled back into bed, curling as much of herself as she could around him. He pulled her close, wrapping arms and legs around her, falling asleep this time as exhaustion flooded him.

_"She's mine, Holmes. All mine." Jim's voice purred in his ear as he couldn't move, bound to a chair. Molly was suspended by her wrists from the ceiling, covered in bruises and cuts. "Let her go, you sick bastard," Sherlock snarled, twisting against the cords. He watched as Jim strode over to her, kissing her greedily before pulling out a knife and placing it on her throat. "No one will ever love you again," the small man smirked as he spilled Molly's blood on the ground._ _Sherlock screamed, sobbing, begging as he watched the light leave her eyes, unable to wake, trapped in the dark..._

Molly woke hours later to feel Sherlock shaking beside her, crying, _screaming_. She shot up, taking him by the shoulders. "Sherlock! Sherlock, my dearest love... wake up..._please_" she begged him. He thrashed, crying out her name, begging to die in her place. Her heart twisted. She shook him. "Sherlock! Wake _up_! It's me...it's Molly, your Rose...wake up!" she insisted, feeling slightly frantic.

His eyes snapped open as he gasped for breath, unable to focus, unable to recognize her as her lifeless form clung to his eyes. She looked into his eyes..._something_ still wasn't right. "Sherlock?" she said, hoping that her voice would bring him to full consciousness.

He heard her, sobbing softly. "But you died."

She felt her throat tighten. She took one hand and placed it over her heart. "No. No, I didn't. I'm alive. I'm _here_," she said, forcing him to feel her, to feel her warmth, to feel her pulse. He started to shake his head when he came fully conscious, her smell hitting him. He saw her, saw his hand on her heart. "_Molly._"

She let out a breath. "Sherlock," she said, smiling tentatively, pressing his hand into her a little harder, as if willing him to wake up faster. He started up, kissing her hard, pulling her against him, and forcing his mind to shake the dream. She gave out a noise of surprise, but melted into the kiss, giving everything she could to him.

The kisses were sloppy and loud as he convinced himself she was real, but the nightmare had felt real as well. He pulled her back to examine her before kissing her again, her lips like air to his drowning man. He pulled back again to look at her, his eyes wide and wild, before going right back to kissing her. She let him; she needed this as well, needed _him_.

He finally slowed, the kisses becoming sweeter and less frantic before he broke away, gasping for oxygen. Molly rested her head against his shoulder, panting, spots dancing in front of her eyes from the sweetest lack of oxygen she had ever experienced. When she regained her breath, she gathered him to her. He melted into her touch, holding her tight. "I need you to sing to me," he whispered, voice breaking. "Please, soothe me, fix everything. I've failed you so horribly."

She nodded, swallowing hard as she searched for the right words. She happened upon one, a Welsh lullaby deep in her memory, tweaking the words for him. "Sleep, my love, and peace attend thee, all through the night. Guardian angels God would send thee, all through the night. Soft the drowsy hours are creeping, hill and dale in slumber steeping. I my loving watch am keeping, all through the night. Angels watching ever 'round thee, all through the night. In thy slumbers close surround thee, all through the night. Soft the drowsy hours are creeping, hill and dale in slumber steeping. I my loving watch am keeping, all through the night." (1)

Sherlock closed his eyes, letting her voice wash over him, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. He started to relax, pulling her to his side, whispering "Hold me."

She did, clasping him against her as tight as she could, as tight as they both could bear. He buried his face in her neck, soaking her shoulder and the pillow as he fell asleep. She could feel his tears burning her skin as he cried. She had to breathe, to make sure she didn't start crying as well. Soon afterwards, his breathing evened into that of sleep, making her let out a sigh of relief. She stroked his head, his hair, his back, rubbing soothing circles into them, to reassure herself as much as him. She fell asleep as well, lulled by the repetitive motion of his breathing and his warmth.

oOoOo

Sherlock woke up hours, maybe days later, he didn't know anymore to, of all things, the sound of his mobile. He rolled over gently, careful not to wake Molly. "H'lo?"

There was a soft chuckle at the other end of the line. "Dear dear, Sherlock. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. I must say, I'm..._disappointed_ in you," a lilting voice said. The detective came fully awake in less than a second. "How the hell are you alive," he hissed, glancing at Molly's sleeping form

A high, manic titter now. "Oh, you don't know? You haven't figured it out? You're slipping, my dear. Right. Over. The. Edge."

"Here's an idea. Why don't you load real bullets into your gun and have your precious underlings shoot you. Oh, wait, I forgot, I killed them all."

There was a pause. "Now, _that_ wasn't very nice. And here I was going to make you an offer. But, no matter. A rose by any other name would smell as sweet. And she is, isn't she? Our dear. little. _mouse_. I'm honestly surprised that you went for her...my...sloppy seconds..."

Sherlock froze. "What offer?" he asked, deliberately ignoring the rest of the sentence, the fact that Jim knew _his_ pet name for Molly. The flat was bugged; it had to be.

"Too late. We'll talk later. Give Molls my love, won't you? Ta~" and the line went dead, the dial tone ringing dully.

Sherlock set the mobile down, shaking with fear and rage. He had to tell her. He owed it to her, but this-this would utterly destroy her. He shook her gently awake. "Molly?"

She blearily woke, blinking, smiling up at him. But something was wrong...something was horribly, horribly wrong. "Sherlock? What's the matter?" she asked, coming to full awareness in less than a second, sitting up beside him. He looked at his mobile then back at her. "He's alive," he whispered, shaking harder.

Her eyes went wide and her breath stopped. She knew who Sherlock was talking about; he didn't need to elaborate. She couldn't draw in air to breathe; the room spun around her. "What?" she gasped, hoping, _praying_ that she had heard him wrong. That this was merely another nightmare. Everything felt hyper-real.

"He just-called, he knows my name for you, said you're his mouse, that I'm taking his sloppy seconds, said he was going to make an offer and I went and botched it up and-" Sherlock looked back at her. "Molly, he _knows._"

She couldn't help it...she started laughing. But this wasn't 'oh, that's so funny' laughter. This was panicked, hysterical, terrified laughter. "No...no no no no no no NO..." she said, a mantra, a prayer. He pulled her close, their bodies shaking in unison. It had been too good to be true, and now he was bound to lose her. He'd lost John before and now her. Moriarty was just determined to destroy him. She pulled away for a moment like she could read his mind. "Don't you _dare_ leave me because of this, saying that you're doing it to protect me..." she hissed, begging, eyes glazed over with tears.

"I will do everything I can to stay with you," he murmured, stroking her face with his pale fingers, leaning in and kissing her. She kissed him back, only for a moment. Then she got up and ran to the bathroom, barely making it in time before she was wretchedly, horribly sick, her body heaving as she vomited. He followed her, kneeling next to her and pulling back her hair. "Let it out, I'm here, it's ok."

She shuddered as she now dry-heaved, nothing left in her to bring out. She spat and got up, flushing, blindly making her way to the sink so she could wash the taste out of her mouth. He stood, keeping her hair back from her face as she rinsed. "Better?"

She simply nodded, taking deep breaths to try and calm herself. "What are we going to do?" she asked, softly.

Sherlock's mind was moving fast, flicking through all their options. "We need to get you to safety, Mycroft will have a safe house. Then we think," he whispered in her ear, lips covered by her hair in case of cameras.

"You're coming with me?" she asked softly, praying he would.

"For the beginning at least, until I can figure out what to do."

Molly nodded. Then she had a thought. "I want to help. No...I _need_ to help. I can't sit idly by and twiddle my thumbs while you're out there," she said. Sherlock froze. "If he catches you-hurts you-"

She put a hand on his arm. "I'll be fine. I'm made of sterner stuff," she said, though inwardly she felt very cold. If he did catch her...she didn't know what would happen. But she quelled that feeling. If he did catch her...she would guarantee that he would see something new.

Sherlock pulled her into a hug. "Go pack."

She nodded and went back into the room, throwing things haphazardly into a suitcase. Molly heard a sound behind her; she spun, catching a glimpse of a man dressed solely in black clothing at the base of her bed. She opened her mouth to scream but there was a soft _thip_ and a hypodermic dart struck her in the left shoulder. She quickly pulled it out as the world went hazy and dark. The man caught her when she started to fall, binding her ankles and wrists with plastic zip ties, slapping duct tape over her mouth and securing a blindfold over her eyes. Then out the window and into the night he went, burden over his shoulder, leaving as quickly as he had arrived.

Sherlock's head snapped up when thought he heard a thump, tearing to their room, fear pooling in his stomach when he didn't see Molly, only her suitcase. The consulting detective almost jumped into the wall when his mobile rang. "What?"

There was a crackle. "Well, now, Sherlock dearest...I believe I have something that you want. No need to rush. Well...maybe there is a need to rush if you want your precious rose with all her petals intact. And I can't really promise that. Or maybe I can? I'm soooooo changeable, after all." With a click, the line went dead.

Sherlock stood there for a moment, frozen in terror before he regained control of his mind. "Okay, think..." Packing swiftly, he practically fled the apartment, calling Mycroft on the way. "Brother...I need your help."

_And that's where we leave you for now. Just a reminder that you can find everything I have on my livejournal account (same penname as I have here). I'll inform you all when I get my AO3 account where all of my stories will go permanently. Here is the song that Molly sang to Sherlock to calm him:_

(1) All through the Night- I grew up to the Tom Chapin version, and I believe ladycorvidae said they heard the version by the Mamas and the Papas


	6. Chapter 6, Part 1

Chapter 6: The Worst That Could Happen

Molly groaned, blinking blearily. It was cold and bright, wherever she was, and her wrists and ankles hurt. She was trying to wet her dry, fuzzy mouth when it all suddenly came back to her; Moriarty wasn't dead. There was a man in her room and... that was the last thing she remembered. She tried to move her arms, but they were bound tightly to a chair, as were her legs. _Well, that explained the pain._

"Really? You actually thought I wouldn't secure you? Tut, tut, mouse, you're growing more careless by the second."

Her blood froze; she knew that voice. Molly looked around wildly but couldn't see him. He must have been standing behind her, but somehow, that information only made her more uneasy. She took a breath to steady herself (which didn't work very well) and looked around her, her eyes adjusting to the light and dark of the place. She was in some sort of locked room with a bare concrete floor. She was still in her pajamas and barefoot, which would explain why she was so cold. But she had no idea where she was. She swallowed hard.

Jim smirked. "A little skittish, aren't we, mouse," he whispered, leaning in so he breathed on her neck before kissing it, biting the skin before withdrawing into the shadows again. "I expected a valiant rescue from your beau. Disappointing, really."

She gasped then shuddered in revulsion; this was the last thing she wanted. She wanted to ask how Sherlock's rescue was disappointing, but couldn't...there was still tape over her mouth.

Jim reached around, ripping the tape off in one fluid motion. "You can talk you know," he purred, Irish brogue thick on his voice. She winced, both at the pain and at the sound of that voice. "What do you want with me?" she asked, her voice slightly hoarse.

"Oh, I'm sure you already know that, pet"

Her eyes went wide with fear and her heart started pounding; she could think of several things, and none of them were good. "Leave him alone," she hissed. This was some way to get back at Sherlock, she knew that much.

"And why should I? He broke his end of our little bargain. That means I get to hurt what he loves _most_."

She thought fast...she had to downplay their relationship, to make it seem like less than it was. "He...he doesn't love me most. I'm...I'm not...important. I don't-don't count," she said, the words stinging, even if they were a lie.

Jim started to hum in her ear, very softly before singing: "Te lucis ante terminum..." (1)

Her eyes went wide and her breath caught. "Stop it..." she whispered.

"My love is like a red, red rose..." (2)

She felt sick. "_Stop it_..." she said. He was using their words, their songs. It made her feel...vile. It was almost as bad as if he had touched her. Then she had a thought. He knew their song and her pet name, meaning her flat was bugged. She went white; he knew. He knew everything, how they lived, how they slept...how they loved...

"All clicking now, isn't it? Not such a pure flower anymore, you naughty girl."

The breath went out of her in a rush. "Why...I...you must have had my flat bugged before this...why?" she asked faintly. She had to know.

"Bored."

She shuddered. It was absolutely uncanny how alike he and Sherlock could be...down to the phrases they used. She shook her head; _no no no, don't _ever_ compare Sherlock to this... madman_. Sherlock could feel. She wasn't sure about Moriarty.

"And then I was _sooooooo_ pleased when he came back to you, toying with you as he always has. You really should choose your partners more carefully, mouse."

"He's not toying with me," she said, voice defiant.

"How can you be sure," Jim hissed in her ear, hands idly stroking her arms. "You think that rock guarantees anything?"

She felt her skin crawl underneath his touch and tried in vain to move away. "The ring is just a symbol. The words are not," she said.

"Words can lie, love. Your time with me should have taught you that, little rose."

"Not when he means them," she spat. She knew he was trying to make her doubt Sherlock, but she wouldn't. She had seen far too much of that man, had been through too much, had picked up too many pieces to even think that he would lie to her like that.

"Sentiment, that's all it is, down to his singing his first profession of love. Awful soon after telling you he loved another _man_, wasn't it?"

She tried to block the words out, but the smallest tendril of doubt grew. It...was awfully quick for him to get over John. She tried to quell that as best she could, and was silent. She wouldn't, _couldn't_ believe Moriarty. He was trying to get inside her head, to break her from the inside out, and she'd be damned if she'd let him.

"You think it too, just too good to be true, followed up with sex and showers and sweet nothings and more music. _'Will you go, lassi go-'_"

She rocked her head back, trying to hit him. Damn him. DAMN him for saying these things. And damn her for beginning to doubt.

"_'And we'll all go together'_" Jim continued, dancing out of her way. "Rose has thorns, I like it."

She began trying her bonds, praying that there was some weakness to them. She strained and stretched and fought them until she broke the skin on her wrists. No good, they held too tightly. She was growing tired; the drug was still lingering in her system. She panted softly, glaring at the darkness, trying to see him.

"You know, I'm rather enjoying myself, a slightly used pet at my disposal," Jim whispered, lips sucking the shell of her ear. She shuddered, his breath and his mouth hot on her ear. She recoiled. "I am not your _pet_," she snarled. Again, she moved her head quickly to the side to see if she could hit him. Wonder of wonders, he must have stayed close to her to gloat, because she felt her skull collide with something. It hurt her, but she smiled grimly, knowing it would hurt _him_ as well.

He snarled, backhanding her. "As long as you're here, I think you'll find you are, Rose," he growled. Her head rocked back, the ring on his hand tearing open the skin of her lip and forcing her teeth against the inside of her mouth, cutting her cheek. She spat out the blood at him, hoping that she hit him. A small amount of defiance, even as the pain sizzled.

"You stain this suit, you lose a finger. Tear it, and Sherlock loses one," he hissed.

She froze; the last thing she wanted to do was get Sherlock hurt. So, his ultimatum about his precious suit given, she glared. If looks could kill, Moriarty would be dead a hundred thousand times over from the one that Molly was giving him.

Jim smirked, sauntering forward to stand fully in the light for the first time. "I see you understand me now. Good." He crossed to her, sitting in her lap, and trailing one hand to tuck her hair behind her ear. "Don't you love me anymore?" he pouted, looking up at her, using his Jim from IT voice. "You were so pliable in bed, so malleable." He leaned in and stole a kiss, lapping the blood from her lip. "You always did taste so wonderful."

Her blood ran cold. Of course he had to bring that up; they had made love once. _Once_. They had gone out for dinner and drinks and she'd had too much. She woke up the next morning sore and naked next to him, the night before rushing back to her; a tangle of tongues, hands roaming, her screaming his name to the heavens, her hands clutched in the sheets as he pleasured her. She felt so horrible about that night that she ended it. "I never loved you," she said, again, feeling her skin crawl with revulsion as he touched her. However, goose bumps formed on her bare arms; the room was cold and he was warm, after all, and her pajamas weren't made for cold bare rooms.

"Hmmm, I think you're lying, and you know what I do to liars," he growled, biting his way down her neck.

"I'm not lying..." she gasped as he moved his mouth down her neck. She shuddered.

"Yet your body betrays you."

"So turn the thermostat up; it's cold in here. People shiver when it's cold," she said, trying to move away from him, a futile gesture. He had her pinned.

"But I'm warm, dearest," he chuckled. "Afraid of cheating?"

"I detest you," she spat.

He smiled against her neck before biting and sucking a bruise, his hands letting her hair down and running through it. When he was satisfied, he came back up and kissed her deeply, nose wrinkling. "You don't taste right, Rose. Suppose it's time to reclaim what's mine..."

He kissed her and it took everything she had not to bit him. But then he said those words_...'time to reclaim what's mine,'_ and her eyes widened and her face drained of all color. "No..." she breathed_. No no no no no...Not that._

"Oh, yes," he whispered into her mouth, fingers roughly tearing at the buttons on her shirt, not caring for the fabric as he plundered her mouth. She whimpered as he kissed her; one of dominance, of possession. She could hear the buttons skitter off into corners and her breasts were bare to him now. She felt tears well up in her eyes and roll down her face as she thrashed. If this was going to happen, then, by God, she wasn't going to make it easy. He snarled against her lips, nicking them with his canine teeth. "Behave, Rose, or you're fiancée will suffer."

"Are you really so sure about that?"

She gasped, turning her head; she knew that voice. She loved that voice. "Sherlock...!" she breathed. She was elated, and terrified at the same time. He had them both in the same room now...and who knew how Moriarty's mind worked. The criminal stopped kissing the girl but his hands continued working, fully baring her chest. "Well, well, Sherlock-"

"Let. Her. Go."

Moriarty smirked. "Oh, defending the honor of your lady-love? How...pathetic. Never thought I'd see the day where you went all noble. But look at her now, your precious rose. Her skin is soft, I'll give you that," he said. He bent his head to the crook of her neck and shoulder, keeping his eyes on Sherlock as he inhaled Molly's scent, pressing a lingering kiss and a quick, vicious bite there. "And she smells...and tastes...lovely. Although, why you'd want her is beyond me," he said, his hands still wandering their way over her skin.

Sherlock took a slow breath, blocking out the fear on Molly's face before grabbing Jim and throwing him across the room, into the wall. "You seem to forget that I spent several years killing people, _Jim_."

Moriarty got up, shaking himself. "Well, well, well, _Sherlock_, I haven't forgotten that, not at all. Although, perhaps, there is something you've forgotten? How quickly you change your mind. You say you love that Army doctor, and then you shack up with little miss mouse here. Why is that?" he said, cocking his head to the side in that reptilian manner of his.

"It is none of your business what I do, Moriarty," Sherlock hissed, flying forward to pin the man to the wall, John's old gun underneath Jim's chin. "No blanks this time."

"Oooh, look at you, big man with your gun. But it _is_ my business. Don't want you hurting my Mouse now, do I? I do so miss her after all...you know how tight she is...all those lovely noises she makes. And I had her first," he leered up at Sherlock.

Sherlock's face was almost touching Jim's. "Yes, I am the big man and I'm tired of your games. Your guards were child's play. I will admit to a definite satisfaction in watching the light drain from Moran's eyes a few months back. And it matters who she truly cares about, not who got there first."

The criminal hissed "But that takes all the fun out of the _game_. And Seb knew the risks. Bad form for not telling the rules, you know."

"You want rules?" Sherlock's arm cut off Jim's air supply, crushing against his windpipe. "I kill you now, ending this for good, and then I leave with Molly, safe and sound, you forever dead to me _and_ to the world."

Jim's face went red, then purple from the lack of air, his lips turning blue. Sherlock cocked the gun and stuck it into Jim's mouth. "Farewell."

There was just enough consciousness left in him to laugh. This was...ironic. _'See you in Hell, Holmes. I look forward to that handshake,'_ was the last thought that James Moriarty had before the trigger was pulled. Blood, bits of skull and brain matter flew everywhere, spattering the walls. Sherlock stepped back, ears ringing as the empty corpse collapsed to the floor. He wiped off his face as best he could, getting most of the blood off before turning to Molly. He rushed to her side. "Are you hurt?"

Her eyes were wide. She had just watched him kill a man. She realized that Sherlock was asking her a question. "Ah...I...other than my face, I'm...I'm fine..." she said.

He saw the cut, cursing softly. He took out a knife and started working at the bindings on her wrists.

All of a sudden, there was a soft -shlick- sound and an awful wet squelch; then Molly felt pain, bright, searing pain, shards and slivers and webs of it, all coming from a point low in her gut. She looked down; there was about six inches of bright steel, now dulled with her blood, protruding from her abdomen. "Sherlock..." she whispered, hardly able to draw a breath.

He gasped, swearing every curse word he knew, practically ripping the rest of her bindings off. "No, nononononononNO!" He pulled out his phone, calling 999 before turning back to it. "How to stop it? MOLLY, how do I stop the bleeding? DO NOT CLOSE YOUR EYES!"

Things were fading in and out. "Pressure. Pressure on the wound," she said. "Don't take the knife out, makes it bleed more." Her eyes fluttered and she fought...had to stay awake. But things were getting colder. She numbly identified shock. He heard the siren as he pressed his hands to the wound. "Oh Jesus, no, please, stay here love, stay with me."

She nodded weakly. "Try..." she said. Each word was an effort. Everything _hurt_. The pain came in waves, ebbing and flowing. He kissed her gently, a few tears escaping his eyes before the medics crashed through the door.

There were sudden lights and noise and then...she heard soft pneumatic hisses and -thips-. Sherlock sprang in front of her and then there were soft thuds as whatever projectiles had been fired hit him. "Shr'lck..." she said, still having enough consciousness to worry, to raise her arms to reach out to him, even as the EMT's were dragging her away and telling her to put her arms down or else she'd agitate the wound. She ignored them, starting to struggle. Using all that was left of her strength, she took a breath and screamed his name. "SHERLOCK!"

He heard her, but just barely, the world swimming as his vision blurred, vaguely aware of the pain as he hit the floor. His back burned, and he could just barely feel hands on him before he blacked out completely, his last thought of Molly and whether or not she was alive.

_(1)- Vespera, appeared in previous chapters, Latin Chant_

_(2)- A Red, Red Rose- Robert Burns_


	7. Chapter 6, Part 2

Chapter 6, Part 2: Just by a Thread

The ride to the hospital came in waves and patches; Molly was in and out of consciousness, the EMT's trying to stop the bleeding, to get a transfusion. She was rushed to the operating room and there was more hurrying: to get the metal out, to get the IV in, to get the crash cart- her body seized as her heart faltered and stopped, the strain and the blood loss too much for it. Then there was a high whine and a shock and a jolt. Then -pain-. All was pain. The surgeons finally took mercy on her and put her under, carefully monitoring her heartbeat and oxygen levels, taking her pulse, giving her blood and fluids as they patched her up.

Sherlock was adrift in darkness, limbs so heavy that he had no hope of moving at all. He struggled, terrified he was finally drowning, dying, so when he saw the light, he fought tooth and nail to avoid it, even as it pulled him back into his body, gasping in his hospital bed, thrashing and yelling as the nurses came in to restrain him.

The dark was warm and comforting. Molly smiled in her sleep. Then there was a light...a pinprick at first, but growing stronger as she reached it. It was lovely...she wanted to go, to walk into it, to get out of the dark. But something was wrong...there was something here that wasn't with the light. _Sherlock_... her mind said. _If you go, you'll leave Sherlock._ And that...no, that would not do. Not at all. She turned away from the light, going back down into the darkness, settling into her bones once more. She knew it would hurt when she woke up, but she didn't care. She had to stay.

Sherlock fought off several nurses, screaming and howling to beat the band until his eyes managed to focus on the bed next to him. "Molly!" his voice in a half sob.

"Mister Holmes! If you do not let us treat you, we'll have to remove you from the room!" a harried-looking doctor who was sporting a black eye told him sternly.

"Is she alive? Is she all right?" Sherlock's face twisted in pain as he moved, panic constricting his chest until he saw Molly breathing. The doctor's face looked grave. "She needs rest. A lot of rest. We fixed her up, but lost her on the table for a minute. Now it's up to her," he said.

Sherlock stopped moving, heart beating frantically. He stared at the sleeping, possibly comatose woman next to him. "Molly, wake up," he said. "Please, for me. Molly, oh _Molly._" He started to sob softly, whimpering her name over and over again. The doctor (Alfred, his name badge read, Doctor Alfred) looked at him. "The sooner we can treat you, the sooner you can go to her. Please...let us help you," he said, sighing. Sherlock nodded, holding still as the doctors checked him over, replacing his IV and looking at his back; it was tender and sore, but some painkillers took care of it. "Now can I see her?"

Doctor Alfred paused...and nodded. Technically, he couldn't, but this man was volatile and would start fighting again if he told him otherwise. "Be careful with her; no moving or jostling her of any type," he warned.

Sherlock nodded as the doctors wheeled him over to Molly. He took her hand carefully in his, squeezing gently it was so, so cold. "Wake up, Molly _please_ wake up my love, my Rose," He started to sob again, convinced he'd lost her: all his stupid fault. In spite of himself, he began to sing their chant, pausing frequently to take a shuddering breath. Her brow furrowed; she could hear Latin, the chant, _their_ chant. A hand holding hers. It took a monumental effort, but she opened her eyes; each of them felt like they weighed six tons apiece. And there he was, her dearest love, her Sherlock. She would have smiled if she could.

He gasped. "Oh thank God, you're alive," he sobbed. She used almost all the force she could muster and gently squeezed his hand.

"Rest," he whispered, seeing the strain it caused her. "You nearly died." _Oh god, she nearly died and it was all his fault._ Sherlock could feel his mind shutting down as he continued to hold her hand. She could see him shutting down, see the wheels in his head turning, and she knew it wouldn't amount to anything good. She dredged up all the strength she had and spoke. "Don't blame you. Please..." she murmured.

"Don't speak." His eyes flashed slightly and his grip tightened, loosening again as he realized what he was doing. "You need to rest and get better. I won't forgive myself if you-" He choked on his words, astounded by the pain he felt, the care he had for her. She squeezed his hand once, an assent. She was tired...so tired. She gave him a small smile and drifted off to sleep.

Sherlock insisted that the doctors let him have his bed right next to hers, the number of bruises and black eyes he could see on various employees backing up his request. He held her hand until he too finally passed out, still slightly weak from the drugs in his system He lost track of how long he slept, drifting in and out of consciousness, only waking when he heard Molly's heart monitor start blaring.

Molly woke to pain, agonizing pain. She vaguely realized that there was a long mad droning noise... 'Oh... my heart's stopped...' she thought, then she was out. The doctors called a code and raced in with the crash cart and began their work.

Sherlock tried to protest as he was wheeled away, watching in horror as they charged the paddles and shocked her heart. No response. They charged again and just managed to get a heartbeat. They gave her more meds and finally wheeled the detective back next to his fiancée, him taking her hand in his and holding tight. "Don't you leave me, Molly Hooper," he whispered fiercely. She squeezed his hand. Even unconscious, she would never think of leaving him. Not ever.

oOoOo

It took a week before she was conscious for longer than ten minutes at a time, another two before she could sit up and eat again. Sherlock had been discharged after the first week, but he practically lived in her hospital room, even bringing his violin with him; it was nearly confiscated even though he protested that the music would help Molly get better. He secretly suspected Mycroft's hand in making his stay easier even though he didn't see his brother once.

Three weeks, three long weeks of rest and recovery. Molly thought that she was going to go mad. Thankfully, Sherlock was there whenever she was awake; he was there when she was able to sit up and feed herself again. She laughed for the first time since the incident when his violin was nearly confiscated, protesting loudly that the music would make her better faster. He was such a child in some ways. "I can't wait to get out of here and go back home with you," she said one night, as he sat beside her bed as per usual.

He stroked her hands, tracing the lines on her palm, relieved to see so much color back in her face; they'd given her the last blood bag a few days before and she was going to be discharged in a few days. "I can't wait to bring you back home," he murmured, kissing her palm and her fingers. "You're safe now. I've made sure that you're safe. Mycroft and his team have been through the entire flat, debugging it. There will be no more eyes on us."

She breathed a sigh of relief. That was good...no more invasions of privacy, though she knew that she would be jumping at shadows for a long time. She didn't even want to think about the nightmares; she hadn't had one yet, but that was most likely due to the medicine that was pumped into her. She didn't know if Sherlock had any; he was usually right here with her...the hospital staff tended to look the other way if he wanted to spend the night (which he almost always did).

"They'll let you go soon. You've been healing really well, and they know I'll take care of you." He wasn't going to tell her about the pills he'd been taking to let him sleep, sitting in his chair with his head by her side some nights, to curl up beside her others, staving off the eventuality of nightmares. She nodded, taking his hand in hers and rubbing her thumb across his knuckles. She loved this man so much...he was always there for her.

Finally...FINALLY the day came where she was discharged. She gratefully packed up what meager things she had and they took a cab back to her flat. She was sad that they had been forced to get rid of the rose pajamas; they'd had to cut them off of her to operate and dispose of them since they were covered in blood. She breathed a sigh of relief when she walked through the door of their home; everything was right where she left it last; except for a large bouquet of flowers on the coffee table. There was a card- "Wishing you a speedy recovery. MH" Her eyebrows went up. Even if Sherlock's older brother was an utter arse, he could still be...human. She smiled. Sherlock rolled his eyes at the flowers but didn't get rid of them. Instead, he helped Molly into their room and then went back and brought the flowers in to put on her side table. He sat next to her on the bed, took her face in his hands and kissed her very gently as though the slightest move would shatter her.

She kissed him back; the last time she had been kissed, it was...she blanched. Moriarty was the person who kissed her last. She quickly put the memory out of her head and focused entirely on the man in front of her, her fiancée, her dearest love. She held him a little more tightly. "It's not like I'm going to break," she said quietly against his mouth. He felt her grow cold, pulling back slightly. "Where did he touch you," he asked quietly.

She swallowed hard. Wordlessly, she gestured to her lips, to the crook of her neck and shoulder, to her breasts. Thank God Sherlock had shown up when he did...if he hadn't...she would have had a lot more trouble and would have probably been in the hospital for much longer than she originally was.

Sherlock kissed her lips again, very gentle and sweet before moving down her neck to her shoulder, trying to repair the damage the psychopath had done. He undid the top few buttons of her blouse to kiss and stroke her gently, finally returning to her lips. "Anywhere else?"

She gestured to her ear. "He...he used your name for me...he sang your song..." she said softly, the memory still fresh in her mind. Sherlock felt the rest of the blood drain from his face as he kissed her ear gently, trailing his tongue around the shell of it. He kissed the flat of her ear whispering, "I can pick a new name, a new song, whatever you need."

She shook her head. "No...I just need you."

He kissed her again, gathering her in his arms and holding her close, suppressing his fear and tears as he softly sang their song, the chant in his low, rumbling baritone, stroking her hair. She closed her eyes and burrowed her head into his chest, feeling his voice reverberate through her, holding him tightly. He finished the song, whispering his name for her over and over again as he let down, silently crying into her hair. "You're alive...I'm so glad you're alive and safe."

She could feel his body shaking, could feel the tears that landed on her head. "I'm glad that you're alive and safe as well. Oh, Sherlock...I love you...I love you so much," she said, tilting her head up and lifting her hands to wipe the tears from his face. She was swimming in front of his eyes as the tears fell; he'd come so close to losing the only person who loved him, who really and truly cared about him. "I love you too, my red, red Rose," he whispered, pressing his forehead to hers.

She claimed his mouth in a fierce kiss (well, as fierce a kiss that she could give). She needed him; needed to feel that he was there, that he was safe, that _she_ was alive. She needed his warmth after the cold sterility of the hospital. He deepened it swiftly, exploring her mouth, cleansing it from that creep, petting and stroking her hair as he held her, moaning against her, warming her as best he could, finally wrapping her in his coat and kissing her again. She felt so small and fragile; it was an odd feeling. She held him tighter, pressing him to her. "Oh, my dearest love, how I've missed this," she murmured in between kisses.

"As have I," he whispered back, snogging her as if his life depended on it, gently massaging her neck as he kissed her more. She purred into his touch, reveling in the way he kissed her. It made her feel better, feel more normal after the long stay at the hospital.

"What can I do? To help you, I mean. What do you need?"

She put her fingers to his lips. "All I need is you. Just you...you being yourself. That is all I need. That is all I want. If I need anything else, I'll ask you." She gently cupped his face in her hands and gently rubbed her thumbs over his cheekbones, smiling softly at him. He nodded, turning to kiss her palms in turn. "I'm here."

She linked her arms around his neck and pulled him to her in an embrace. "Good."

He pressed his hands to the small of her back as tightly as he dared, stroking her scar with his fingertips, fighting the urge to apologize again She shivered slightly as his fingertips gently stroked the scar that the knife left on her lower back; from what the doctors told her, she had been insanely lucky. Any lower and it would have pierced her spinal column and she would never have walked again. Any higher, and it would have gone through her large intestine.

Sherlock blinked back tears of self-loathing and anger, still blaming himself. He moved his hands upwards and clutched her to him, nose wrinkling at the antiseptic hospital smell that still clung to her. She felt him stiffen in her embrace and instantly knew what was going on. She saw the looks of anger and self-hatred that flared in his eyes whenever he thought she wasn't looking. "Stop it;" she chided. "Stop blaming yourself. It's not your fault. Moriarty was a complete psychopath...he had had my flat bugged long before you came back. I'm _fine_. That's all that matters."

He nodded, not willing to accept it yet but putting on a brave face. "I just-I nearly lost you and-and he knew how to get to me. It's just-he always attacks those people that matter to me."

She sighed. As much as she hated to admit it, he was right about that. "Because he didn't play fair." The words left her mouth before she really knew what she was saying. She bit her tongue. WRONG thing to say. She quickly went on, elaborating, praying that he knew she didn't mean it like that...didn't mean it like _he_ meant it. "It isn't fair to anyone to use someone important to them to make them do what the other person wants; that's just...sick and wrong," she continued.

"But it's effective. He got me involved, he got me invested, he got me to _care_ about the outcome, Molly. I stood to lose _everything_."

Molly held him closer. "But you didn't. You won. He's dead, permanently this time. And I'm safe. And you're here with me. You _won_."

He started to cry again, fear slowly replaced with joy and triumph, a hollow triumph as he had been forced to kill again, but a triumph nonetheless. "Yes you are, and we-are we still engaged?"

She kissed him, a burning kiss. "The only way we wouldn't still be engaged would be if I were dead, or if...if you didn't want to be any more," she said fiercely. He smiled, breaking the kiss to look her in the eye. "I was terrified that I had screwed everything up at that disaster of a dinner and then you were taken and then injured-Molly, I want to still be with you."

She rested her forehead on his. "Oh, Sherlock...I may have been mad at you, but I wouldn't end our engagement over a single fight. It would take something...huge and...devastating for me to not want to be engaged to you anymore. And I still want to be with you."

"Good," he murmured before kissing her again, letting her straddle his lap. He had no intentions of taking things too far; she still needed to heal, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to enjoy himself a little. She straddled him as they kissed; she was frustrated with her own body's healing rate. She wanted to be with him so bad... but she had to be careful. The doctors had specifically told her that she couldn't have sex for a month after she was released from the hospital which she thought was supremely unfair, even though they did have a point. But that didn't mean she couldn't find other ways of enjoying herself. She gently arched into him, grinding her hips against his. He gasped, moaning deep in his chest. "Your-stitches-" he panted.

"As much as I want to...not taking it any farther than this..." she said, slightly breathless. She could feel him growing hard underneath her and it set a fire in her belly.

"Yes-but-not-fair," he whined, lips attaching themselves to her neck as she continued grinding their hips together. She bit her lip as the seam of his jeans caught on her just in the right place as she moved against him. "Doesn't mean we can't find...other ways," she said, giving a roll of her hips as she spoke, her breath catching in her throat as he kissed her neck.

He was careful not to use teeth, not yet and maybe not again for a long time. The friction of her and his jeans against his arousal rubbed just the right way. He was close already and kissed her hungrily, desperate for her. She could feel the desperation in his kiss. She moved her hand down; the friction of grinding against him was good, but it wasn't quite enough for her. She found the right spot and bit her lip, arching her head backwards as she touched herself and him, working towards that peak.

With a shudder and a groan, he came, bucking involuntarily against her, his hand joining hers. She gasped, and with a few more well-practiced strokes, she followed him, shuddering and keening. He chuckled, panting against her lips. "Wow."

She let out a breathy laugh. "Wow indeed. Not as good as having you inside me...but it will have to do for now."

He groaned. "Don't give my mind any more stimulation than it already has."

She gave a wicked smirk. "Why ever not?" she asked, playing innocent.

"Because self control in the face of keeping you safe in this regard is getting very difficult," he growled, kissing her ear gently. She sighed regretfully. "Fine," she said, pouting a little, pressing a quick kiss to his pulse, then letting her lips linger.

He sighed, pulling back gently. "Need to get cleaned up."

She made a slightly embarrassed face. "Er...yes. Sorry about that," she said. She hadn't thought of opening his pants to avoid a mess. Oops...

He grinned, kissing her blushing cheeks before standing, walking with some difficulty to grab a pair of trousers and heading to the bathroom to clean up, back in less than 15 seconds. "Better," he said, grabbing a new pair of knickers from her drawer and holding out a soft, wrapped bundle. "Welcome home, love."

She took the bundle and unwrapped it; it was a new pair of rose pajamas. She dropped them as if they burned her. "Ah..." she quickly composed herself. "I...thank you, Sherlock, but I...I don't think I can wear these for...a while," she said. She felt horrible for saying so...he was trying so hard. He nodded; this had been one of the possible scenarios he had been prepared for. He pulled out another bundle from under the bed, blue pajamas this time with Celtic knots on them. "Will these do?"

"Oh, Sherlock! These are lovely!" she breathed, admiring the soft cloth and the intricate designs. The color was beautiful and she stood carefully, quickly stripping herself to put on the new pajamas. The royal blue looked beautiful against her skin and Sherlock smiled She did a small twirl, admiring the way that they felt against her skin. She walked over to him and gave him a hug. "These are gorgeous...thank you so much," she said, nuzzling into his chest. He hugged her back, pressing soft kisses to her hair. "The others are for when you're ready, but these are for healing, for starting over. And the knot has a special significance as well."

"Oh really?" she said, tracing the pattern on the cloth of her sleeve.

"The double spirals in the spaces between the knots are for balance, the regular spirals for birth and re-growth, and the knot itself stands for family and marriage, creating new ties to a new life."

She felt a pleased shiver run up her spine as she clutched him tightly to her. A thought that she had pushed down a long time ago suddenly came back to her; a child. _Their_ child. She flushed brilliantly and hid her face underneath her long hair.

"What?" He tilted her chin up, laughing softly at the sight of her pink face. "Did I say something?"

She smiled and knew it looked slightly silly. "Well, yes and no. Just a thought I had," she said.

"Do tell." He could read some of it, but this was difficult to make out. It had something to do with their future, but something about Molly wouldn't let him deduce any further. She took a breath and bit her lip. "Well...you said marriage and family and new life. That just got me thinking about...about eventually...having a child of our own," she murmured.

Now it was his turn to flush. "I don't think I'd be a good father," he mumbled, not meeting her gaze. Her eyebrows went up. "Sherlock, I think you'd be a wonderful father. If you give any child we have even half the love and care that you give me, they'd be spoiled rotten," she said.

"But-my father-I don't want to risk doing that to another child."

She took his face in her hands and looked him dead in the eyes. "Sherlock...you are _not_ your father. Have you in any way at all made the same choices he did?" she asked him. He almost instantly shook his head no

"Exactly." She pressed a kiss to his forehead. "You would be an excellent father. I know you would be."

He smiled and turned down the sheets on their bed. "Let me put my pajama bottoms on, but go ahead and lay down."

She smiled and nodded, getting in under the covers, wriggling slightly in delight to be under clean sheets in their bed in their flat. She watched as he shucked his shirt off and her smile faded. There were countless puckered scars along his back. The scars were tiny, but they were still there. She swallowed hard. He didn't notice anything until he was tugging on his pajamas and turned to face her, the shock and horror still on her face. "Oh, my scars."

She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them. "Oh, my dearest love...come here..." she said, holding her arms out to him. She needed to be close to him now; she had forgotten about the countless number of darts that had been fired from hidden mechanisms in the walls in the room that Moriarty had taken her to. He crawled under the covers, letting his back face her.

She lightly traced each scar with her fingers, followed by her lips. She felt as though she were trying to remove them with her willpower, but she knew that if she had a choice, she never would. These scars, as much as they made her feel horribly guilty, were a sign of just _how_ much he loved her. He shivered under her ministrations, toes curling at the sensation. He hated the wounds, but she was treating them with such reverence, such love that he felt himself relax, rolling over to face her as soon as she reached the last one. She looked up at him, her eyes full of intense emotion she didn't have words for. She just..._looked_ at him, and hoped that he could understand her.

He kissed her gently before gathering her in his arms. "Sleep my love and peace attend thee, all through the night." (1)

She swallowed hard, feeling tears sting her eyes, melting into his embrace. He rocked her back and forth, crooning the rest of the song in her ear until he felt her fall asleep, lulling himself into the same state, forgetting to take his meds beforehand. She was lulled to sleep by his singing and gentle rocking and breathing, the warmth of him and the feel of his heartbeat. She slept in his arms, content, for a few hours. But that didn't last long.

_Molly trapped, screaming, Jim riding her in the chair, each thrust driving her onto the blade, his love hooked up to a device that just pumped the blood back into her body so she didn't die, trying to run to her, an explosion of pain in his back from darts and bullets and poison, but he didn't die. Jim stuck him to the wall and made him watch as he violated Molly over and over, finally turning to Sherlock, grinning, Molly's blood at his mouth before snapping his fingers. Sherlock had a gun in his hand, it's sight for Molly's head and he couldn't stop himself as he pulled the trigger_ "MOLLY!" He started thrashing, still deeply asleep.

She woke with a start as Sherlock began to thrash. She moved away from him as his arms and legs flew out, careful to avoid his path so her stitches didn't re-open. He was caught in the jaws of a horrible nightmare. She took a shoulder and shook him. "Sherlock! _Sherlock_! My dearest love...please wake up," she said, slightly frantic. She was afraid that he'd hurt himself.

"Leave her alone...no...stop...give her back...NO!"

She shook him harder, now even more worried for him. She knew exactly what he was dreaming of. "Sherlock! It's me... it's your Rose, your Molly. I'm here, I'm _safe_. Please wake up..." she begged.

He started sobbing. "Please..._please_ bring her back..."

Not knowing what else to do, she slapped his face gently. "Sherlock!" she called him. She hardly expected what happened next.

His hand lashed out, catching her on the cheek as he threw himself back off the bed, landing on the floor jolting him out of the dream. He was on his feet in a second, wide eyed and searching for Moriarty, for Molly's corpse, the details of their room slowly coming into focus as the dream began to fade. Her head rocked back with the force of his blow, catching her completely off guard. She fell off the bed with a cry, clutching her cheek and jaw.

He shook his head a few times, finally registering the bed and their room. He saw the covers and Molly's arm, flying around the bed to help her up, checking her stitches: still fine. "What happened?"

"Nightmare," she said, still hiding her face from him. She could feel the burn of blood; he had split her lip. Or had she split it when she fell? It all happened so fast.

"Molly? Molly did I do something?" Then he caught a glimpse of her face, her lip split in the same place as when-  
He saw his knuckles and the blood there. "Oh no..."

"It was an _accident_. You were having a nightmare," she said. She could already see the self-loathing in his eyes, and she'd be damned if he hated himself for something that he had no control over.

"But I hit you-"

"You were dreaming. I tried to wake you up. That's all that happened," she said, trying to stem the flow of blood. He fumbled for the first aid kit in her side table, pressing gauze to her lip. She hissed as he applied pressure. That _stung_. "I'm fine. I really am," she said, trying to reassure him.

He waited until it stopped bleeding, silently thanking whomever was listening for keeping blood off of the new pajamas and avoiding another blood trauma to something he'd given her. "I'm sorry," he murmured before going back to bed, swallowing two pills before climbing under the covers. The meds hit him fast. "Come back to bed," he said, words slurring slightly. "I need you."

Her frown deepened. She'd have to talk to him about whatever he was taking when it wore off. Right now, they both needed sleep.

"Please," he whispered when she didn't move. Slowly, she got into bed. Her mind was racing a million miles a minute. He curled up against her, nuzzling her chest before he fell into a dreamless sleep. She stroked his hair as he quickly fell asleep. She followed not soon after, she slept for hours.

_I promise there will be more. This was a 30 page chapter when I started. Read and Respond. I'm back in Editing mode._

_(1)- All through the Night- seen in previous chapter (Chapter 5)_


	8. Chapter 6, Part 3

Chapter 6, Part 3: What Exactly _Is_ Love?

Molly woke before he did, and, making sure he didn't stir, decided to do a little detective work of her own. She opened the drawer to his bedside table and found a prescription bottle with his name on it, a prescription for a powerful sleeping pill. The recommended dose was a half a pill, taken only as needed. She had seen Sherlock take two. Her blood ran cold; this wasn't good...this wasn't good at all. The withdrawal of heat from the bed roused Sherlock from his rest, but it took him a few moments to navigate the sheets he was tangled in. "Molly?" he muttered, voice low and gravelly with sleep.

"How long have you been taking these?" she asked softly, not looking at him.

His brow furrowed as his eyes focused slowly on the bottle. "Since the incident."

"And how long have you been taking quadruple the dose?" she asked, her voice even quieter.

He swallowed. "Since the second time you crashed."

Her breath left her in a rush. That was nearly a month ago. He was lucky that he hadn't OD'd. Her hands started to shake slightly, the pills in the bottle rattling with it. He scooted up, watching her carefully. "Now, Molly, let's have a calm discussion about this-"

She rounded on him, eyes blazing. "NO. I will NOT be calm! This is an extremely powerful drug that _you_ are abusing! You of all people should know to follow the instructions; they're there for a reason! You...you could have not woken up..." she said, her voice catching on the last sentence.

"The alternative is that I hurt you again, that I have nightmares of Jim raping you into the blade that split you open over and over until he forces me to end your life, Molly!"

"And possibly DYING is better than having a nightmare? Nightmares run their course, Sherlock! If you just keep putting them off or shoving them down, you'll hurt yourself more!"

"I CAN'T WATCH YOU DIE AGAIN!" he shouted. "I-I can't-not when it's my fault-at my hand."

"But it ISN'T. YOUR. FAULT! The man responsible is dead. I am alive. YOU are alive. I will be here when you wake and to take away the nightmares, Sherlock. But you need to _let_ me help you. _Please_." she begged, clutching the bottle tight in one fist.

He started weeping, wiping the tears away angrily. "Molly-"

Without warning, she stood and ran to the bathroom. She wrenched open the bottle and dumped all the pills down the toilet and flushed them. This was her ultimatum. This was her promise. He followed her, far more unsteady than he ever remembered being after taking the medicine, the flat spinning until he fell. He heard the multiple *plunks* and then the flush of the toilet. _Gone, all gone_. He lay his head on the floor, waiting for the world to right itself. She heard him fall and ran to him, pulling his head into her lap. "I've got you...I've got you," she murmured as she held him.

"I'm a mess, Molly, just look at me. Scarred, broken, unable to even walk, abusing my medication. If you want to leave, I'd understand. You deserve so much better."

She sat him up and forced him to look at her. She was angry, she was desperate, she was scared, she was sad. "Sherlock Holmes, if you think I'm going to leave you now, then you are sincerely and utterly STUPID. Not only is that an insult to you, that is an insult to _me_. Only the cowardly and the lowest of the low leave the ones they love when they need them most. Don't you _dare_ say that I deserve better because I have what I want...I have what I need. And that is _you_." she said, her voice low and fierce.

He started crying again, sobbing in her embrace. "Then I am stupid because you _do_ deserve better. I'm a disaster, Molly."

That was it. That was just too much. She pushed him away slightly and slapped him. "Don't you DARE say that. You've saved my life...you've taken care of me. You've _killed_ for me. And believe me when I say that I would do the same for you. I would stop time and tear the world apart to save you. You are NOT a disaster. I. Love. YOU. You and no one else. If I had wanted anyone else, would I be here with you right now? _Would I_?"

The slap stung and Sherlock had to gasp in shock, her words biting and stinging like wasps. He didn't see how any of it was possible, but somehow it was. Somehow, after everything she'd suffered by him, she still loved him, still wanted to be with him. It was he who didn't deserve someone so wonderful. She repeated herself, her voice low and dangerous. "Would. I? Tell me, Sherlock. If I didn't love you, would I be here right now? If I didn't feel like I deserved you, would I be here?"

He shook his head slowly, tears streaming down his face, looking at the floor. "No, you wouldn't be." Logic prevailed once more. She let out a sigh, her anger draining out of her. "Exactly. I love you. I'm here...and I won't leave...unless you tell me to go..." she said, gathering him into her arms. He let Molly hold him, finally lowering his walls completely for the first time since her capture. He clung to her like she was about to vanish as he cried, not even noticing when she helped him back to bed. There she cradled him, his head on her breast, letting him listen to the beat of her heart. She rubbed his back and ran her fingers through his hair. "Shhh...I'm here. I'm not going to leave you. Not now, not ever," she murmured, pressing kiss after kiss to his head and face.

She sighed as he cried himself to sleep, her following soon after, utterly spent. She felt ancient and weary, and she was content to just hold him, to know he was there and he was all right. Sherlock did not dream of anything but roses, pure, beautiful, red roses, waking finally some hours later with his face buried in Molly's shoulder.

"Molly," he whispered, satisfied when she didn't answer that she was still asleep. He very nearly got up and left, planning to write a note but something about seeing her there, his ring on her finger made him stop and go for the shower instead, self-loathing as strong as ever.

Molly woke up, panicking slightly when she didn't feel Sherlock's weight and warmth against her. But she heard the shower running and breathed a sigh of relief. She stretched, wincing slightly at the pull of her stitches and the throb of her cheek and jaw. She checked it in the vanity mirror, frowning at the bruise. Nothing that makeup couldn't cover up. She meandered into the kitchen and started making food; she didn't know about Sherlock, but she was _starving_.

He finally stepped from the shower and dressed, heading into the kitchen, fighting the feelings that came from seeing the bruise on her face. "Morning," he mumbled, taking his mug of coffee from the counter. She gave him a soft smile. "Morning, love," she said, walking over and pulling his head down to give him a reassuring kiss. "I love you," she murmured, reassuring and reaffirming. He sighed, kissing her back gently. "Love you too."

She gave him another smile and went to oversee their breakfast. He was being quiet, but she figured that he would talk to her when he was ready.

"How does next month on the 23rd sound?"

She turned to face him again, confused. "Next month on the 23rd for what?" she asked.

"Our wedding."

She almost dropped what she was holding. "Wh-what? Sherlock...that's...quite soon. A lot of planning is involved in weddings, and...do Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade and your brother know? Well, I'm sure your brother does, but..." she could almost feel her mind slow. "What about John?"

"I don't care. We can elope. I don't want to wait much longer, and that gives your stitches more than enough time to heal. I'd be able to take you on a proper honeymoon."

Molly opened her mouth and shut it. When she finally composed herself, she took a deep breath. "All right. Next month on the 23rd it is."

Sherlock stared. "Really? No fighting, no arguments, no protestations?"

"Well...I can't see why not. I mean, we can always tell them afterwards...but...oh. Mrs. Hudson and John...and Lestrade...they'll be angry when we tell them we got married and didn't invite them to the ceremony..." she bit her lip.

"Fine, we can do something small, include the bare minimum, yes?"

"That's perfect," Molly said, still trying to get everything through her head.

"So...what all goes into planning this sort of thing?"

She stopped and thought. "Ah...well...since we're doing a small ceremony...we can just get a justice of the peace to perform the ceremony and we can sign the register at the courthouse. Our friends can be witnesses," she said slowly. Sherlock nodded, lost in thought. "I assume you'd like a dress...nice suit for me...Lestrade, Mycroft, Mrs. Hudson...and John," he muttered, pacing

"They can bring their own clothes. And the dress...leave that to me. It...it may be silly, but there's a tradition...the bride can't be seen in her dress by the groom before the ceremony," she said, feeling slightly silly. He looked at her, the sight of her blushing slowly breaking through his haze of frustration. His gaze softened slightly. "Well, you know I'll already have figured it out ahead of time, but I don't have to see you in it until then."

She swallowed. "We...we still need to go see John. Has...has he contacted you since then?" she said, referring to the disastrous failed dinner. Sherlock shook his head, going distant again. She took a deep breath and let it out. "We need to tell him, then."

Sherlock's head snapped up. "_Why_? Why do we have to tell him? He _hates_ me, Molly."

She stared hard at him. "You don't know if he hates you. And you need to go apologize to him. You still care for him, and if anything, he'll have gotten less angry by now."

Sherlock bit his lip, looking for all the world like an ashamed child. "I don't think he cares anymore, Molly...he has no reason to-"

She looked at him, both surprised and frustrated. "Sherlock, if you think he's going to stop being your _best friend_ simply because you had a fight..."

"I ended our friendship when I pretended to die!"

"If you think you ended your friendship just because of that, you're sorely mistaken. _You_ kept your friendship alive by keeping him safe. You...you love him, Sherlock...and he's still your friend."

Sherlock sank to the floor, shoulders shaking. "I can't _apologize_ when I was perfectly justified in my remarks and deductions, but he will expect one. He's...honorable in that way."

She wrapped her arms around him, kneeling. "Sherlock...sometimes you need to swallow your pride to keep your friends."

"Won't it be better if I just let him go?" he whispered, Moriarty's words about him loving John spinning in his head.

"You and I both know that you'll regret it forever if you do," she said, swallowing a lump in her throat. She had a flash back to the night Moriarty had taken her, and the things he said... '_too good to be true; awfully soon after telling you he loved another man_'. She shook her head slightly to clear it and put those thoughts out of her head. Sherlock loved her...

"Moriarty was right...everything happened so fast...I must've transferred my feelings from him to you...you were there, were willing..." He looked at her, tears streaming down his face. "How can I know anymore what's real, Molly?"

Molly felt like she had been dropped in ice water. He saw the look on her face. "Molly-"

She let out a whoosh of air and moved away from him, not looking at him, her mind slowly going over what he had said. Every word felt like the knife that she had been impaled on, straight through her heart. He knelt there for a moment before standing, going to her, hesitating before reaching out to touch her shoulder.

"Don't...touch me..." she said softly. She looked at him, eyes full of tears and blazing with hurt and anger. "I don't know if you've got your head on straight, but what's real is that _I love you_. And...I..." she choked out a sob. "Sherlock...has everything you've said...everything you've done...everything we've been through together...has it been a lie? You...you said. You _told_ me that I wasn't a replacement."

He took a step backwards, the intensity of her gaze almost palpable. "I know you love me," he murmured, searching his tumultuous mind and confused heart, "And I have most certainly come to care for you, more than I think anyone else I know...but Moriarty-"

"Is dead, Sherlock. And you killed him...to-to keep me safe. I...I don't know what you feel for me anymore, but if you didn't love me...you would have let him..." here she choked again and shivered violently. "You would have let him do what he liked."

Sherlock felt the blood leave his face. "Every night, I have a nightmare, Molly," he said quietly. "The same one over and over again. I'm too late to stop him. You're impaled on that blade and he has you rigged to a contraption that pumps your blood back into your body, so you don't die. He's riding you, every thrust driving you back onto the blade, forcing more blood from you. You're in pain, extreme pain, and you cry to me with your eyes for help, but just as I get close, there's a gun in my hands and, against my own will, I shoot you between the eyes." Sherlock's fists were clenched and he was shaking. "I can't wake up from it, and if it continues, he then goes back to screwing your corpse before turning to me...I've never gotten further than that before waking. _That's_ why I took the pills. If that dream isn't proof that I'm haunted by everything and my desperation to save you, to protect you isn't proof of whatever love I feel, then I truly don't know what is."

She could feel herself stagger under the weight of the words he told her. She went to him and gripped his hands so tightly her knuckles went white."Then don't let him poison your mind anymore! You know I'm here, I'm safe and that I'll never leave you, Sherlock. And you can love both John _and_ me...you can love your friends," she said.

He clutched back. "_How_? How is it possible to split love? To split your care among many? Molly, I'm scared that my mind is breaking down. _I don't know how to handle this_."

She held him tightly, fiercely. "How do you think parents do it; to split their love between each other and their children? It's different types of love: romantic love, friendship...all that. And I can help you. Whatever you need, I can help you with it," she said.

He nodded. "All right then, friendship...Lestrade? Mrs. Hudson?"

"Actually, I'd say that Mrs. Hudson is closer to a mother-figure to you...she takes care of you and you are protective of her; John told me about the time you tossed that American out the window for hurting her."

Sherlock nodded, putting Mrs. Hudson in a higher category than his own mother. Lestrade was definitely a friend, annoying at times but reliable. "Mycroft?" he asked.

She thought. "He's your brother. You annoy each other, but you still mean well. I...I saw him at your 'funeral' and he was devastated. He may not of cried, but he looked so sad and old. He loves you too, Sherlock, though...you both have strange ways of showing it."

"Siblings then...such an odd thing," he muttered, finally coming to the one he dreaded. "John..." he whispered, barely getting the word out, emotions and thoughts flooding his mind, overwhelming him. She took a breath. "John is your best friend; he genuinely cares for you and loves you...not in a romantic way. A platonic love. You're like his brother, and he feels that he can tell you anything. He...Sherlock, after you 'died', he was a wreck. I had to stay with him for almost a month to be sure he was all right, that he didn't do anything rash," she said. She hadn't told him that before; she figured that he had enough on his plate at the time with trying to find and dispose of Moriarty's web.

"Anything rash? Molly, did he try to follow me?" The sting of the words that John loved him like a brother also confused him; he was in a different category than Mycroft. She nearly winced. "I...I was basically on suicide watch with him, making sure he didn't have a gun or poisons or knives near him when he was home. I had to be sure that he wasn't alone," she said quietly.

Sherlock flinched as if burned. "...and Mary helped him, didn't she? Pulled him through it and out of it?"

Molly nodded. "Almost six months afterwards, he met Mary at the clinic he was working at. They started talking and then they started dating. They fell in love and...they got married," she said.

"I suppose I do owe her a thank you and an apology," Sherlock mumbled. "And-and you, Molly Hooper? How exactly do you feel about me? I need to know if I'm close, if my feelings match yours. I need something, some kind of proof that this truly is real, erase all my doubts once and for all."

She pulled him close and kissed him, pouring out her feelings. When she broke the kiss to breathe, she began to speak. "Sherlock Holmes, I love you so much that it scares me. I care about you; I want to be there for you when you're sad, when you're happy, when you're working on cases, even when you're angry. I want to be there with you, I want to grow old with you, have a child with you. I want to spend the rest of my _life_ with you, Sherlock. And I...I can only hope you feel the same," she said, swallowing hard. If...if he didn't love her then...she would end up spending her life alone, she was sure. She'd never loved anyone the way she loved Sherlock.

He let her kiss him, felt her giving him...something, but it wasn't until she began to speak that he truly understood. Her words cut through his doubts because she was sincere. He could tell she wasn't lying or using him. She _really_ loved him and wanted to do everything with him. He kissed her back, pulling her as close as he could, hands tangling in her hair. "I do," he whispered. She let out a sob into his shoulder after he kissed her, holding him as close as she could. "I love you...I _love_ you," she whispered. She could feel her heart beating itself against her ribs in joy, all for him.

"I love you too, Molly, I love _you_ and no one else. I want everything you do, I want that life...I can have it now. I never knew I wanted it until now." He pulled her close, holding her in his arms, her sitting on his lap.

She wept; out of joy and relief, letting him hold her like a child almost. She could hardly believe that he really cared for her. Her heart was singing and she was fairly shaking. He kissed her head over and over, resting his back against the wall of the kitchen. When she finally had control of herself, she pressed another long kiss to his mouth; to reassure, to reaffirm. She breathed him in, wanting to drown in him, needing to feel him. He deepened it almost instantly, kissing her and drinking her in. "IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou."

She broke the kiss to draw a breath and shifted, straddling his lap and clutching him to her. She wondered if he could feel her heartbeat against his. "And I love you. Oh my dearest, dearest love, I _love_ you."

He let her press him back against the wall, kissing her neck. He could feel their hearts beating, could taste her on her skin; she warmed him, she made his world make sense for the first time since before the Fall. Molly drew in his scent and leaned her head against his shoulder, content to simply just _be_. Her arms were around him and her hands were rubbing his back and shoulders. He sat there for a long time, holding her, breathing her in, some part of his brain suddenly registering the look of the blue of her pajamas against her skin.

She closed her eyes and sighed in content. However, she had to get up after a while; her knees were beginning to protest after being on the floor for so long. She pulled him up with her, gazing up at him, her eyes full of love. She too one of his hands and pressed it to her heart, willing him to feel it and recall something that he told her long ago; _'Your heart really does beat for me, doesn't it?'_

It was so intimate, that simple gesture. He stroked her cheek with his free hand before bringing her hand up to his chest, his heart. "For you," he whispered. She placed some more pressure on the hand that was over her heart. "Always," she whispered back.

He leaned down and kissed her, just barely brushing their lips together. She brushed her lips against his in return, this simple gesture feeling more intimate than any soul-searching kiss that they had ever given each other.

"I love you, my Rose," he murmured.

"And I love you, my Sherlock," she said in return, meaning it from the depth of her being. She sighed and rested her head against his chest. "We still have to go see John, though," she said.

He nodded. "Get dressed, we'll go today."

She blinked and checked the time; it was almost three in the afternoon. She nodded. "No time like the present. Let me give him a call and tell him we're on our way," she said.

He nodded, going back to their room and changing into something less...damp before heading to the bathroom and washing his face. She changed as well, joining him in the bathroom to splash water on her face. "He knows we're coming," she told him quietly as she watched him dry his face. He nodded. "Let's do this then, my Rose."

She nodded once and they made their way to John and Mary's house. She rang the doorbell and Mary answered it, looking hard at Sherlock. She wordlessly showed them into the living room, where John was standing. "Sherlock," he said curtly, giving him a brief nod. "Molly," he said, nodding at her as well. Molly squeezed her fiancée's hand in encouragement. She had faith in him, that he could do this.

Sherlock took a deep breath and swallowed before looking up at his best friend. "I want to...apologize for my behavior and actions at what was going to be dinner before. I should not have said what I did to you," he turned to Mary, "Or to you. I owe you a thank you, Mary Morstan-Watson, for keeping my friend alive."

Mary's jaw dropped. John's jaw dropped. Molly beamed at Sherlock; she knew how much effort it had taken him to do that, how much he had agonized over the words. Then, Mary surprised everyone. "I forgive you, Sherlock Holmes. And thank you; thank you for...well, not dying, but allowing me the chance to meet him. I've been married three times previously, and all of those men couldn't hold a candle to my John. I think...I think it's safe to say that we kept each other alive," she said, looking the tall detective full in the face. The Sherlock surprised himself, gently pulling Mary close and embracing her. "Thank you," he whispered, kissing her cheek.

John felt his eyes pricking with tears. Those years abroad had changed his best friend into someone new, someone different, but underneath he was still the same man. When his wife was free of Sherlock's embrace, John wrapped his best friend in a fierce hug. "You git. Of course I forgive you. Just...don't you dare do that to me again," he said. He wasn't talking about what happened at the dinner...he was talking about the Fall. Molly had to swallow tears herself. She went and stood next to Mary, smiling quietly at the scene of reconciliation and redemption. Sherlock hugged John back, smiling as he cried. "Thank you, John...I won't leave again. I promise."

"Good," the smaller man said, squeezing Sherlock hard once before letting him go and turning away swiftly so he could dash away the tears that were rolling down his face. He turned to Molly and wrapped her in a bear hug that caused her breath to leave her body; she swore she could hear her ribs creak in protest. "And thank you, Molly, for all that you've done. For...for everything," he said. Molly hugged him back, being mindful of her stitches. "What are friends for, John?" she murmured.

"Careful, John, she's fragile right now," Sherlock said, smiling, taking Molly's hand in his. "You're both invited, of course."

John released her quickly. "Fragile? Invited?" he said, puzzled. Sherlock glanced at Molly, not sure how much to say. She took a breath and nodded. John ought to know.

"Moriarty caught her and in the process of rescuing her, she was stabbed. Her stitches will take another month to heal fully. Invited, well, to our wedding."

John went white. "But...he was dead..." he stammered. "Where is he now? Is he in custody?" he demanded.

"No. He's really dead this time," Sherlock said, face hardening as he fought off the images of his nightmare. John let out a sigh of relief, visibly relaxing. "And...wait, did you say wedding?" he said, his brow furrowing. "I...you _did_ say you were engaged, that's right," he continued, his face brightening. Sherlock saw Molly smile. "Yes, wedding. The 23rd of next month. September."

John's eyes widened. "Sherlock, I...I would be honored, thank you," he said, stammering slightly. Molly beamed. "It'll just be a small ceremony, nothing big or fancy," she said quietly.

"If you would be my best man, John, I think that would be the greatest honor of all," Sherlock replied softly. John's jaw dropped again. "You best...Sherlock...of course!" he said, grinning ear to ear.

Sherlock smiled, really smiled, hugging the man again. "Thank you, John," he whispered before letting him go, taking Molly's hand in his and squeezing gently.

She squeezed back. She was so pleased and so proud and so happy. Mary brought them all tea, and they sat and talked for what felt like hours; finally, at about seven, Molly started to feel tired. It had been a long and severely trying day. She looked at the clock and back to Sherlock and bit her lip, not wanting to ask to leave and feel rude.

"I'm afraid I need to get Molly home," Sherlock said, making to stand. "She still needs her rest."

John nodded and walked them over to the door, Mary following. "Of course. Molly, I hope you recover quickly. Sherlock...I love you like a brother. Thank you for...for everything," he said, his voice thick with emotion. He embraced the detective and then Molly, Mary doing the same.

"Goodnight, and thank you both for everything," Sherlock replied, smiling at them, calling a cab as soon as they were on the curb.

Molly stood, inhaling the warm night air. She smiled up at him as they waited for the cab. "I'm so proud of you," she said softly, squeezing his hand with hers. He smiled at her as the cab pulled over, relieved when they returned to their flat. He flipped on the light to see Mycroft lounging on the sofa. "Why are _you_ here?"

The eldest Holmes raised an eyebrow. "I'm here to merely see how Miss Hooper is recovering. And to check on you; her stay in the hospital...troubled you," he said. Molly looked at Sherlock. She knew that, despite Mycroft's icy exterior and his hands-off approach to almost everything personal, he really did care for his younger brother. Sherlock gave him a curt nod. "Thank you for your apparent sympathy, _dear brother_, but we're fine. I'm just putting Molly to bed."

Molly gave Sherlock a sharp look and pulled his head down to whisper into his ear. "Sherlock, as much as you don't get along with Mycroft...he really is concerned for you. This is how he shows how he cares for you."

Sherlock rolled his eyes but nodded, straightening up. "I, ah, _apologize_ and would like to invite you to our wedding."

Mycroft blinked. Then he smiled, a broad genuine grin. "Sherlock...I would be delighted," he said. Molly's eyebrows went up. This was the first time she had seen the man in front of her give any sort of emotion or facial expression that wasn't disdain, disgust, or boredom. Sherlock was surprised. :He hadn't seen that expression on Mycroft's face since the last time he'd agreed to play pirates. Molly smiled back, quirking an eyebrow. Well, today was certainly an exercise in the new and unusual. Sherlock was surprised and Mycroft was beaming. She was pleased with how things had gone and was sure that things would continue to surprise her.

"Now, Mycroft, if you'd please excuse us, Molly really does need to sleep."

Mycroft nodded. "Of course. Sherlock, Molly," he said, bidding them both a quick nod before leaving the flat. Molly let out a sigh. "Well...will wonders never cease?" she said quietly.

"What's that?" Sherlock asked, helping her back into their room, flicking on the lights.

"I've never seen Mycroft smile...ever," she said as he ushered her into their room. She started removing her clothing tiredly, dropping them into the laundry pile and pulling on the soft blue pajamas. Sherlock checked her stitches before she pulled on the shirt, slightly red but otherwise fine. He helped her into bed before changing himself, just pulling on a pair of new pajama bottoms. He knew Molly would recognize the fabric. She smiled as she saw the pajama pants that he was pulling on. She had never taken Sherlock as the romantic type, but thought it was adorable that he had decided to match her...or have her match him, which made her blush a little. It was an unconscious (or conscious) mark of ownership... and she liked it. A lot, to be honest.

He climbed in next to her, gently pulling her close and kissing the back of her neck. She shivered in pleasure, the kiss running down her spine and settling in her belly. She purred in pleasure, disappointed at the same time that nothing more could be done. She reveled in the feeling of him being close to her, of holding her and she sighed in contentment.

"Te lucis ante terminum..." he crooned softly, his hand coming up to stroke her hair, lulling her to sleep. (1)

She sang the next verse with him, joining him in the song she loved so well. He couldn't resist and rolled her over to face him, foreheads pressed together as they finished the song. She looked at him, face to face, her eyes shining with joy and love, smiling at him. She brought his hands to her lips and softly kissed each fingertip and the palm of each hand. He shivered, trying to squash his desire. "I love you, Molly."

She pressed closer to him. "And I love you, Sherlock," she said softly.

He kissed her gently, holding her close, humming softly. She kissed him back; she tried to keep her desire down, rubbing her legs together to try and distract herself.

He chuckled and pulled back, spooning against her again. "Sleep, my love," he murmured. She let out a huff of slight frustration. "Easier said than done," she grumbled slightly.

"I can sleep on the sofa if that's easier...I know I'm distracting"

"No no! I...I want you to stay," she said. She sighed and nestled back into him, content with his closeness and warmth for now. He gently wrapped an arm around her waist, nuzzling her neck as his own breathing began to slow. She listened to him as he began to fall asleep, his breathing lulling her as well. She fell into a dreamless sleep.

_The nightmare returned, but this time, Sherlock was able to shoot Jim before he could violate Molly, rescuing her from the blade and deflecting the darts with his coat. _When he woke, sweating and shaking, he calmed down much faster, lulled back to sleep by Molly's steady breathing. She stirred in her sleep, noting unconsciously that his breathing had changed and she moved closer to him as she dreamed.

He held her slightly tighter until morning.

_And there! Chapter 6 in its entirety. I hope you've gotten your daily dose of angst and trauma now as well as fluff and reconciliation._

_(1)- Vespera, as always_


	9. Chapter 7

Chapter 7: I Do

_The next morning..._

Molly woke first, clutched to Sherlock as he nuzzled into her neck. She rolled over in his embrace and wrapped her arms around him, pressing soft kisses to the bare skin of his shoulder and the base of his throat. He purred as he woke. "Morning," he mumbled, smiling. She smiled back. "Morning, sweetheart," she murmured.

"I like that one...sweetheart." He kissed her forehead before finding her lips. "It's going to be very hard to wait a month."

She chuckled. "I know," she commiserated.

"Is there anything we can do? I rather liked the way you rode me two days ago."

She gave a wicked grin and rolled over on top of him, straddling him. "We can do that again if you want," she said, punctuating the word 'again' with a grind of her hips. He groaned, neck arching into the pillows. "Oh, you are naughty," he moaned.

She chuckled in her throat, setting up a rhythm, feeling him steadily grow harder against her, feeling herself grow slick with desire as she rode him without him being inside her. He thrust up against her, hands settling gently on her hips, moaning and whimpering in the back of his throat. Molly remembered that she hadn't done something last time and halted her pace to tug Sherlock's pants down to about mid-thigh. She paused and lowered her pants as well, allowing herself to slide along him but not have him enter her; feeling him hard and hot as she was slick and wet. She gasped as he ground against her, her breath sobbing in her throat.

He didn't last too long, soon coming hard and gasping her name, tugging her down into a hot, sloppy kiss. She sighed and purred as she felt him come, jerking against her. She slipped a hand down to touch herself, taking only a few well-practiced strokes to have her shuddering and gasping before he pulled her down in a hot kiss. He held her close, letting his breathing slow. "God, and that's just the tease," he chuckled. She joined him in his laughter. "Patience is a virtue," she said. He smiled, shaking his head. "Shower," he murmured.

She nodded and slid off of him, shucking her pajamas. She took one last glance at him, feeling herself grow hot again as she saw him sprawled out and wanton on the bed, his belly covered in his own release. _Tease indeed_. He smiled at the blush on her cheeks before rising and joining her, the shower wonderful and close. He made sure her stitches stayed in place, the skin around them already looking better. She glared at the thread in her skin. "Wish they would heal faster," she grumbled as she washed them carefully.

"Patience is a virtue."

She gave him a wry look. "Ha ha, very funny," she said, gently poking him in the side. He yelped, batting her hand away. "Cut that out."

Her eyebrows went up into her hairline. "Sherlock Holmes, are you..._ticklish_?" she said, incredulous. Not waiting for his reply, she grabbed at his sides again.

"Gah! Cut it out! Not in the shower!" he gasped.

Molly grinned, but did as he asked. Now she had an idea, one for when her damned stitches were removed.

oOoOo

_September 22..._

Everything was set, planned, lined up for the next day. Sherlock could barely hold still as the doctors finally removed Molly's stitches, pronouncing her fully healed. Molly grinned, restraining herself from whooping with joy. She had butterflies in her stomach, but for another reason entirely. Tomorrow, September 23rd, was their wedding day. Everything had been planned, the people invited, the appropriate paperwork gathered and filed away, the justice of the peace notified. She had her dress (hiding away in Mary's closet) and Sherlock had his suit and now...the waiting. Sherlock picked her up and twirled her there in the office, gently of course before kissing her quickly. She laughed, giggling as he set her down. "Let's go home," she murmured.

"Indeed," he grinned.

The hours passed like years as the day dragged on. Finally, it was time for them to go to sleep, although Molly was fairly bursting with energy. She watched Sherlock like a hawk as he got ready for bed; she was already curled up under the covers.

"You haven't stopped staring for twenty minutes," Sherlock said, pulling on an old pair of pajama bottoms, a brand new set for both of them packed away in his suitcase, a surprise for her

She blushed and averted her eyes. "Er...sorry," she muttered, making an embarrassed face. "I just...tomorrow we're getting married. I can't believe it," she said as he crawled into bed beside her.

"Don't be embarrassed," he murmured, kissing her forehead. "It'll be lovely."

She wriggled, hardly able to contain her excitement. "I don't know if I'll be able to sleep," she admitted.

"Try. I want you well rested for tomorrow...able to stay up well into the night," he murmured.

She grinned. "I'll do my best," she said. She switched off the light and rolled over, counting her breaths until she fell asleep. She woke before he did and lay in bed for about five minutes before she got up to get ready. Mary was meeting her early at the courthouse so she could put on her dress and help her with her hair and makeup. She wrote a note and left it on her pillow:

_"My dearest love, my sweetheart, my one and only; I'm off to get ready! I'll see you at the courthouse. Forever- Your Rose." _

She pressed a kiss to the sleeping man's forehead before she got her things to go out the door.

_90 minutes later..._

Sherlock woke to a pounding on the front door to the flat before people started coming into his flat. "What the bloody hell-"

"C'mon, Sherlock! Up and at 'em! It's your wedding day!" John crowed, grinning from ear to ear. "We're here to help you prepare," Mycroft said as he swept in regally. Lestrade followed Mycroft. "Why they couldn't let me sleep, I have no idea. C'mon, mate...get your arse outta bed!" the detective inspector grumbled.

Sherlock rolled out of bed, groaning as the men shoved him into an ice cold shower, shocking him awake. Everything came flooding to him, nerves included, and he scrubbed clean quickly; Mycroft must've had the hot water turned off because he couldn't get it to heat to save his life. He stumbled out of the shower, putting on Molly's favorite of his colognes before pulling on a clean pair of boxers and heading back to his room where the three men dressed him, pinning a rose to his lapel, one of them fixing his hair, doing his tie, straightening his jacket.

John pinned the rose to his lapel, Lestrade was fixing his jacket, and Mycroft was running a comb through Sherlock's unruly curls. Finally, they were done tortur-ah-_fixing_ him up, and they admired their handiwork. Lestrade was looking him up and down. "Hm. You clean up pretty nicely in a suit," he said, flicking some lint off of one shoulder. John beamed, straightening Sherlock's tie again. "I second Greg's remark," he said. Mycroft exuded an air of quiet, brotherly pride and nodded once. John's grin suddenly took on a conspiratorial air. He leaned in and murmured softly into Sherlock's ear. "And just _wait_ until you see Molly."

Sherlock grinned, hugging his friend tightly. "Thank you. Thank you all," he said, hugging Lestrade and shaking hands with Mycroft. "Suppose we should be off. She'll kill me if I'm late for this."

Greg snorted. "I'd like to see that," he said as he was embraced by the tall detective. They bundled him into the backseat of one of Mycroft's sleek government cars and went off to the courthouse.

_5 minutes before..._

Meanwhile, Molly was pacing back and forth in the room next to where the simple ceremony would take place, the skirt of her gown flaring around her. "Would you stop that? You're making me dizzy," chided Mary. "Sorry," Molly said, ceasing her walking. "Nerves." Mary nodded in sympathy. "I don't blame you. I was a wreck before John and I got married...don't fret, love. You look beautiful. And the stuff that you got for tonight...Sherlock is a lucky, lucky man!" she said, adding a slight leer to the end of her sentence. Molly laughed. "Truth be told, it's a gift for the both of us," she said. Suddenly, there was a commotion outside and Mary went to go peek. "Oh! The gents are here! And..._Mother of God_...Molly...Sherlock in a suit-a _tux_..." She let out a sliding whistle. "Forget him being a lucky man, you're a lucky woman!" Molly grinned smugly. "I know," she said. Soon, the gentlemen were settled and all that was left was for her to join the justice of the peace and her groom in the little room where the vows were being exchanged. She stood outside the door of that room and took a deep breath as Mary opened the door.

Sherlock turned as the doors opened and very nearly fainted, John's hand on his arm keeping him steady. Molly was a vision in blue, the same shade as the pajamas she loved. Intricate gold designs were woven into her skirt and bodice and her bouquet...red roses of course. Her hair was down and wavy, punned with more roses and blue, sparkling clips. He could even see the toes of gold shoes underneath the dress. Molly almost staggered backwards. Mary hadn't been lying. Sherlock in a suit...in a _tuxedo_, no less, was...breathtaking. The line of the suit was perfectly tailored, and a red rose was pinned to his lapel, matching the bouquet she carried and the flowers she wore in her hair. She made the short walk up to him, her eyes locked on his, barely hearing the judge as he began the vows, "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today..." she only chimed in when she had to, content to look upon her beloved.

When they reached the exchanging of the rings and the vows, she took a deep breath; they had written their own. She didn't need note cards or a paper for hers; she had every line of it burned into her brain, like the words were written with fire. "Sherlock; my dearest love. I am yours until the seas go dry, until the stars fall from the heavens, until the world itself stops turning. I shall stay faithful to you in all things, to catch you when you fall. I'll be with you when you fall asleep and be there when you wake. I will never leave you behind, to always try and tell you the truth (though you'd figure out if I were lying in less than a second) and to put up with your experiments, though I draw the line at eyeballs in the microwave. I promise to sing to you whenever I can, to sleep beside you, to laugh with you, to cry with you. I will be yours, as long as there is breath in my body, as long as my heart beats. Because it beats for you. This I so vow."

Sherlock parroted back the traditional script, only thinking actively when they got to their vows, only able to drink in the sight of Molly there. Her vows made his eyes tear, suddenly worried that his weren't good enough, but he took a deep breath and began to speak. "I can't take originality for my words, preferring on this occasion to borrow them from Robert Burns: O my luve's like a red, red rose. That's newly sprung in June; O my luve's like a melodie that's sweetly play'd in tune. As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, So deep in luve am I; And I will love thee still, my Dear, Till a'the seas gang dry. and so I shall, Molly Hooper. I shall indeed love you beyond the end of this earth. I shall be by your side through whatever we may face, always there to help you bloom once more, my dearest Rose, my beautiful love."

Molly had to actively keep herself from crying. She stole a quick glance at the guests; Mary was crying, John had tears streaming down his face, Greg was coughing gruffly into his hands to hide his face, and even Mycroft was dabbing at his eyes with a handkerchief. Finally, the justice of the peace (who was looking rather misty-eyed) said the words. "By the power vested in me by the authority of the court, I now pronounce you man and wife. You may seal your vows with a kiss."

Sherlock swept her into his arms and dipped her, kissing her with a smile. She wrapped her arms around him, returning the kiss with gusto. She hardly heard the judge say "Ladies and gentlemen, it is my pleasure to present to you Mr. and Mrs. Sherlock Holmes." Molly was smiling, grinning from ear to ear as they signed the marriage register to tumultuous applause from their small group. Sherlock's stomach flipped as the judge spoke, signing the register with a flourish before turning to the smiling faces of all their friends; even Mrs. Hudson had made it, the old woman the first to hug him and congratulate them.

The affectionate landlady/not-housekeeper swept Molly into an embrace that made her think that some of her bones cracked. Then they were off, talking to their friends, eating a fine lunch, exchanging gifts and then...back to their flat. Sherlock carried her over the threshold, not setting her down even after he'd closed the door. "Welcome home, Mrs. Holmes," he grinned, kissing her. She kissed him back soundly. "It's good to be home, Mr. Holmes," she replied, beaming. They swiftly changed, having packed their suitcases the previous night for the honeymoon to Switzerland. Again, time passed in a blur; the private jet (a wedding favor from Mycroft), the ride over to the mainland, the trip to the hotel. It was after nine by the time they got to their room.

Sherlock whisked her off to dinner after they got settled, celebrating with fine champagne and a hearty meal, even drinking a flute himself. He held her hand through almost the entire thing, her wedding band set with a single sapphire to match the earrings he bought for her his first week with her, his favorite piece of jewelry she owned. She sighed happily, her hand still holding his as they ate. His wedding band was engraved with a Celtic knot, the same knot that was on her pajamas. Finally, when they had eaten their fill, she looked at him and said simply one word. "Bed?"

He shivered, giving her very intense gaze. "Bed," he agreed, charging dinner to their room (the entire honeymoon also paid for by Mycroft...the git just wouldn't take no for an answer.) She gave a shiver as well, nearly melting from his gaze. He took her hand and had to resist the urge to just drag her from the restaurant, but once they were in the elevator he kissed her so hard he thought he might not make it to their floor.

She nearly moaned into his mouth as he kissed her, forcing her back into the wall of the elevator. They managed to stumble into their room before she pushed him off, panting. "I'm going to go change; I'll be right back," she said, breathless. She brought her bag into the bathroom with her as she changed. The deep red lingerie (sheer lace, rose patterned of course,) set off the paleness of her skin well and she gave a wicked grin as she put on the last finishing touches; a quick swipe of the lipstick he loved and she loosened her hair. She knew how much he loved to take her hair down, and she figured that she should at least expedite the process. Finally ready, she opened the door. He had his back to her as he undressed, and she waited with barely contained glee for him to turn around and face her.

He heard the door open and turned, jaw going slack and hands dropping from his purple shirt, her favorite of his, leaving it only partly unbuttoned. "Oh my God, _Molly_..." he whispered.

She sauntered over to him, her lips curling into a sultry smile. "Hello there," she purred. "By all means, do continue undressing. Don't let me stop you," she said, letting her eyes trail down his body, her smile growing wider as she really appreciated how he looked in his shirt. He grew hard almost instantly, his brain shutting down. "I-I may need...assistance," he finally managed, the words lodged in his throat.

She bit back a giggle; her plan was working. _Operation 'Boff Sherlock Silly' was a go_. She lightly dragged a fingernail down the line of his jaw and throat, continuing its way to the skin shown by the undone buttons of his shirt. She swiftly undid the shirt the rest of the way, having her finger retrace the path before dipping slightly below the waistband of his trousers. He groaned, head dipping to kiss her neck, shrugging the shirt off as his hands came up to her hips, tugging her roughly towards him. It had been almost two months, and he was aching for her. "You're stunning," he murmured, lips and teeth and tongue working to suck a faint bruise. She arched into him, moaning as he marked her. "The feeling is mutual, I swear," she said. She wanted him; she wanted him so _badly_.

He toes off his shoes and dropped his trousers as if they were on fire, pressing closer to her, finally picking her up and wrapping her legs around his waist, kissing her hard and passionately, finger tangling in her hair. She clung to him, linking her ankles around his hips as his fingers were in her hair, their tongues tangling. She rubbed against him...she almost couldn't wait. She wound her fingers through his curls, tugging him gently towards the bed. He lay her down, straddling her and grinding gently. "Do you want to lead or shall I?" he murmured.

"Don't care. I _need_ you..." she begged.

"How attached are you to this very sexy piece of underwear?"

"Not very," she said. "But...ah...you don't need to tear it." she moved him away slightly, showing him that there was a long slit in the crotch of the underwear that allowed for it to be pushed aside instead of removed. She smirked up at him. "Will that do?" she asked.

He groaned, pulling off his pants and pinning her to the bed. "Yes, I think it will," he purred, kissing as he entered her, savoring the moment, her feel, the way she shuddered and moaned under his touch. She keened and shuddered as he sank into her, almost coming at once. It had been far too long.

"Not yet, my love," he murmured, rocking against, her, pinning her wrists by locking their fingers together as he thrust harder.

She rocked with him, needing more of him, _all_ of him. She couldn't get enough. It was like he was a drug that she was happily addicted to. The feeling of him working in and out of her after so long away was intoxicating. She linked her ankles around his hips and drove him home with a strength and ferocity that surprised both of them.

He sped up, pounding into her relentlessly, groaning and grunting, breathing more heavily with every passing second. He knew he wouldn't last much longer, but he also knew they had their entire honeymoon to enjoy each other, and then the rest of their lives. He kissed her once more, building to a crescendo before coming hard, crying out her name. She felt him come inside her as he cried out her name, and that sent her over the edge. She came so hard that she saw stars and convulsed, her entire body shaking.

As his vision slowly returned, he relaxed, pulling out of her and gently tugging her close, pressing them together. His half open eyes roamed all over her face, and from the looks of her mouth, he was sure he had lipstick on his face the way it was smeared around hers.

She sighed as he pulled out of her and held her close; then had to hold back a giggle. He had lipstick all around his mouth and...well, she would say that he looked ridiculous, but he was so insanely attractive that she didn't care. She snuggled into him, wondering when he would be up for another go-round.

"What is so funny?"

She gestured to his face, lipstick everywhere. "We were a little overzealous and...well, let's just say that the shade of red I have is all wrong for you," she said, dissolving into laughter. He rolled his eyes, wiping his face off with the back of his hand; her increased laughter indicated he was just succeeding in smearing it around.

She rolled off of him and curled into a ball, positively howling. When she got better control of her mirth, she got up and went to the bathroom and brought back a wet cloth. She gently cleaned his face, making sure to get every trace of lipstick off of him. Then she set to work with herself, so they wouldn't have a repeat.

"Thank you," he said, grabbing the cloth from her and chucking it across the room, tugging her back against him, the smooth feel of the lace on his skin sending shivers through his body. He looked at her, letting his lips hover just above hers, deliberately not letting them touch, teasing her

She made a small whine in the back of her throat as he teased her...well, two could play at that game. She leaned in and just barely brushed her lips against his, once, twice, three times before moving away, looking at him through half-lidded eyes. He growled softly, moving his lips down to hover over her neck, exhaling gently on the flushed skin.

She arched into him, wanting, _needing_ more contact. She ran her fingers lightly from his collarbones to the sides of his hips, brushing down his sides. He squirmed, distracted. "Molly-"

The light bulb clicked on in her head; she had forgotten for a moment that he was ticklish. The first time she had discovered this, she couldn't follow up on it. But now, the stitches were out, and he was all hers. She smiled wickedly and moved her fingers back up to his sides, wriggling them insistently against his skin. He tried to pull back, fighting laughter. "Molly-hey!"

Her smile became a grin as she continued. "I had almost forgotten about this..." she said, laughing in triumph.

"No-stop-Molly!" He gasped for breath as she mercilessly tickled him, fingers moving faster than he could follow. He tried to catch her wrists, but somehow, she was too quick for him. "Rose-Molly-"

She evaded capture, continuing, laughing with him until finally she relented. She was straddling him and she pinned his wrists to the bed with her hands, his arms outstretched. Panting, she looked down at him, a smile bright on her face and in her eyes.

He glared up at her as he tried to catch his breath, his gaze softening as he saw the light in her eyes. "I'll never be safe from you again, will I?"

"Nope. You married me, so you're stuck with me now," she said, before she bent down and teasingly nipped his lower lip. He strained upward, trying to follow her mouth as it retreated. He felt himself start to grow hard again. "You're an absolute tease, Molly-Molly Holmes." He had almost called her Molly Hooper.

She felt like she was glowing: her new last name; she still had to get used to it. Molly bent her head again and captured his mouth with hers, giving him a fiery kiss. She let out a gasp as she felt him harden underneath her, and she rocked her hips against his. However, she pulled away and off of him, releasing him. Only for a moment, though. She reached behind her to unhook and discard the bra and she stood and looped her thumbs into the waistband of her knickers to slowly slide them down off her legs. He watched her strip for him and felt a flush rise to his cheeks. "You're so beautiful, and it took me far too long to see it," he whispered.

She felt herself turn as red as the roses that she carried earlier that day. However, she held his gaze and continued to smile despite her blush. She walked over to the edge of the bed and cupped his face with one hand, trailing her fingers along his jaw and down his throat before leaning in to kiss him, a sweet kiss, not a hot one. He kissed back, one hand coming up to hold the one on his throat. He threaded the fingers of their other hands together, squeezing gently. She broke the kiss, leaning her forehead against his, returning the squeeze of his hand. She joined him on the bed, embracing him, relishing the feeling of her bare skin pressed to his, feeling his pulse speed up under her hand at her touch.

"I want you to ride me," Sherlock whispered, eyes almost shut as he rolled onto his back. Her eyes flew open at his words, and she could feel her heartbeat ratchet up as he moved. She straddled him, brushing the heat of her sex against his hardness, teasing him, coming close to having him enter her but always moving away just at the last second. She did this for nearly three minutes, until she thought they were both going to go crazy. Finally, she focused on him and seated him fully inside of her, sliding slowly down his length until she encased him to the hilt.

Her teasing nearly had him ended before he began, moaning and whimpering, begging at one point; the smirk on her lips in that moment made him groan. When she finally took him in, it took every ounce of willpower to last. "Oh God..._fuck_..." he whispered, cursing for only the second or third time ever during their lovemaking.

She had to close her eyes, take deep breaths and count backwards from two hundred in French in her head to stay in control. However...when he _cursed_...hearing that vulgar word from that mouth with his gorgeous voice, sounding so desperate...whatever finely held control she had snapped. Molly came, shuddering. As soon as she regained her senses, she began to ride him, still slightly erratic from the aftershocks of her climax.

Sherlock gasped as she came, shuddering around him but then she surprised him, going ahead and rocking against him, tight and hot and wet and driving him insane. She was just out of his reach; only his fingertips could just brush against her. Her face was completely relaxed and vulnerable, full of pleasure and desire, her eyes closed, head lolling back occasionally. Molly was working herself up for a second orgasm, and she began to go at a faster pace, reaching her hands out to him, her fingertips just barely grazing his skin, like he was made of paper and porcelain, or he was red-hot. She purred, feeling pleasantly hazy, drunk and drugged on him.

He couldn't move except to thrust up against her weakly, intrigued by her taking total control. He wanted to touch her, to pull her close but he couldn't seem to make his arms move. Her fingertips on his skin burned like ice against the heat of his skin. His neck began to arch back against the pillows as he felt his stomach tighten. She could feel him beginning to twitch inside of her; he was close. She moved quicker now, speeding her own release. About another minute of rocking against him and she was gone again, gasping. "Nnng...f-f...fuck..." she panted, the swear slipping out of her as she twitched and throbbed around him, her back arching and her fingernails digging into the skin of his chest. He grabbed her hands, thrusting up a few more times and was done, whimpering her name as he came, utterly spent as he collapsed back against the sheets, his mind completely blank except for the hazy bliss that was settling over him.

She lay down against him, resting on his chest as they both caught their breath. He was still inside her and she could feel him twitching and softening in her. She pressed sweet, lazy kisses to his breastbone, sighing softly into his skin, the world muted around them. He kissed the top of her head, the world sliding away as he whispered "I love you"

"And I love you...my husband," she murmured, smiling. She loved that she could use that word now, that she belonged to him and he to her. He drifted off to sleep, no nightmares to plague his mind, just content to hold her close. She slept as well, breathing deeply and contently, feeling his heartbeat against hers, resting against him.


	10. Chapter 8

_SORRY for the delay in posting. It's been a very...trying week. I've finished most of the preliminary edits for the rest of the story, so now I'm just fine tuning so it can be the best possible experience. More to come soon. Keep reading and reviewing!_

Chapter 8: I Can See Him

Sherlock didn't know what time it was when he opened his eyes, only that they were on their sides and facing each other; Molly woke up when she felt him stir. The light through the drapes was gray; she surmised that it was shortly after dawn as she blinked and adjusted to the new brightness. "G'morning, sweetheart," she mumbled, her voice still thick with sleep.

"Morning," he rumbled back, stretching slowly, the sheets hot and faintly sticky. She smiled and stretched, feeling absolutely blissful...but also sticky and rather dirty. "I'm going to go hop in the shower," she murmured, sliding out from under the blankets and stretching her arms above her head.

"I think I'll join you."

"By all means, please," she said as she wandered towards the bathroom. She turned the water on, letting it run hot as she stepped in and sighed in bliss, soaking her skin and hair under the spray as she waited for him to join her. The water was refreshing, making him laugh as its warmth washed away all the traces of the previous night. He soon couldn't stop laughing, leaning against the wall for support. She couldn't help but join him. "What's so funny?" Molly asked between bouts of mirth as they held each other up, their sides aching and breath coming in gasps.

"John, Lestrade, and Mycroft chucked me in an ice cold shower yesterday to wake me up and get me ready; I'm pretty sure they disabled the hot water to our flat."

"I hope they turn it back on before we get back," she said, frowning slightly. "I really don't relish the idea of cold showers."

"I think it was just to make sure I couldn't turn it on. They practically broke down the door to wake me. Actually, Mycroft probably had a key, but they were very eager to get me ready for you."

"Well they did an excellent job; I about fell over when I saw you. You look..._bloody fantastic_ in a tux," she murmured, grinning as she remembered. Sherlock could wear formal attire like no-one's business. He looked like sin and sounded like heaven, and it did wonderful, dirty things to her mind and her nether regions.

"I nearly fainted at you in your dress...you were a vision in blue and gold, Molly." She flushed with pride. "Thank you," she said softly, resting her head on his shoulder. She had seen the dress in the store, and it had practically screamed _wear me to the wedding_ at her. The shoes had even come with it, and she could hardly believe her stroke of luck that the entire outfit was on sale.

He held her, working the water through her hair and fiddling with the dial to make it slightly cooler, just enough that he could see her through all of the thick steam surrounding them. She purred, wrapping her arms around him and watching the droplets of water bead and fall down his skin. She followed the path of one with her tongue and lips from his collarbone downwards; Molly nipped the skin lightly when she lost the individual drop at his sternum before dragging her tongue across where her teeth had just been. Sherlock growled softly in her ear. "I don't know how I'm ever able to keep my hands off you."

"Believe me, the feeling is mutual," she said, trailing her own down his back to give his bum a quick, cheeky pinch.

"You are incorrigible."

She grinned up at him. "Only around you, dearest love," she said.

He bent down and kissed her before reaching for the shampoo and working it into her hair, nearly intoxicated by the scent of lavender. She sighed contentedly; his hands and fingers were magic, so strong and such a gentle touch. She felt somewhat like a large cat being stroked and petted whenever he washed her hair. It was wonderful. He washed the soapy mess until it was smooth and silken to the touch before lathering his hands in her favorite Rose-scented soap and washing her down until she looked and smelled like a flower in bloom.

She staggered slightly when he removed his touch, feeling languid, lazy, boneless, and beautiful. She took a moment to compose herself before taking up his shampoo. "Your turn," she murmured. She worked the shampoo into his hair, paying extra attention to him, intent on making him feel as good as he had her. He slowly knelt down in the shower, making it easier for her to reach and pulling her close, gently kissing her stomach and purring as she worked out the tangles in his curls.

Her movements faltered for a moment before she massaged his scalp and gently worked out the knots and tangles in his dark hair. She made him rinse, then got the conditioner and repeated the process, the slightly spicy scent of it wafting up to her and making her smile. When he was all rinsed, she made him stand as she took up the soap and rubbed it between her hands, working up a lather before moving her hands along his skin. down his neck, his shoulders, his arms and hands, his chest, his abdomen, his hips; she knelt so she could get his legs, not before pressing a quick kiss to the top of his groin where the dark hair started to trail downwards to his sex. She even made him lift up his legs so she could wash each foot for him. Finally, she was done, still kneeling on the floor of the shower, looking up at him. He was breathing heavily, the sight of her on her knees going straight to his cock. He groaned softly as his fingers trailed down her face, brushing her lips. "Shower sex?" she whispered.

"Go ahead," he murmured, stroking her head and turning up the heat on the water just a touch, plunging them into a mass of thick steam. She took him gently into her mouth, working him into full hardness with her tongue and lips, moving along him, sucking gently. He moaned her name, leaning slightly against the wall of the shower, her full, flushed lips sending signals all throughout his body. She shuddered slightly as he moaned her name, then she hummed around him, adding noise and vibration to the strokes of her tongue along his sensitive tip.

"You're amazing," he whispered, thrusting slightly, unable to help himself, needing more of her.

She smiled around him, then decided to try something. She relaxed herself and took him all the way into her mouth, down to the hilt. She brushed her tongue along the underside of him as she swallowed, letting the muscles of her mouth gently move around him. He keened in the back of his throat, knees buckling as she swallowed, the nerves at the tip of his cock screaming in pleasure. "Do that again," he breathed.

She would have smiled if she could and did as he asked. She reveled in the sight of him falling apart at her touch. He wouldn't last long now. He couldn't speak or think, just watched helplessly as she took him completely apart. She wrapped her arms around his waist, her breasts pressed into his thighs as she moaned around him. She knew he was close.

Sherlock came hard, shuddering and groaning, barely managing to keep his balance, leaning into her for support. Molly made a small noise of surprise as he spent himself in her mouth, swallowing it all and making sure she didn't miss a drop before she withdrew, releasing him. She smiled up at him as he trembled, feeling quite pleased with herself. He stared down at her with lidded eyes, breathing heavily. "Jesus _Christ_."

She gave a throaty chuckle as she stood; her knees were starting to bother her from being on the hard surface of the bathtub for so long. He pulled her in for a deep kiss, sitting her on the edge of the tub as his fingers traveled down, stroking her gently.

"Returning the favor," he murmured.

She returned the kiss, knowing that he could taste himself on her tongue. She gasped as he sat her down on the tub's edge and stroked her there, her legs opening to allow him access. He pulled her legs open, one hand at the small of her back, the other working her open fast and teasingly, soon balancing her on the edge, not letting her come. She writhed and moaned as he played her like his violin, teasing, touching, but not letting her finish. "Please...oh please..." she gasped, feeling distinctly desperate. She was teetering on that knife's-edge of release, and he was _denying_ her of it.

"Beg for me...tell me a secret...a secret longing or fantasy of us, Molly," he purred.

A fantasy...a secret...begging...fine. "I...ah... before we were together...I..." she gasped, her pleasure-fogged mind trying to put the words together. "I would...I would touch myself and... think of you, wishing it _was_ you. I'd scream your name so loud that -_ah_- I made the walls vibrate," she said. _There. That was a secret for him._

"And a fantasy? Something you just _wish_ I would do to you?" He smirked, knowing she'd do anything now as he slightly withdrew his fingers, hovering over her. She whined as he withdrew. "Not fair..." she moaned.

"Tell me," he purred, lips and teeth grazing her collarbone. She keened and arched against him. Oh, damn his beautiful eyes. A fantasy... "Blindfolded. And teasing. Making me beg for you, then making _you_ beg for _me_. And... -_oh god please_...- talking dirty. Your _voice_..." she gasped.

He kissed her hard, his tongue claiming her mouth as he stroked and tweaked her, finally pulling her over the edge. Molly climaxed in a blaze of light and heat, coming so hard that she couldn't scream, she just made little breathless gasps against his lips. She jerked and shuddered around his fingers, clenching her nails into the skin of his shoulders as she rode his hand. Sherlock grinned against her mouth, rinsing his hand before scooping her up and washing her off gently. "Better, love?"

She mumbled something incoherent; she had lost all faculties of speech for the moment.

"What was that?" he asked, smirking.

She repeated it, still a garbled string of words that made no sense. She stuck her tongue out at him. He caught it with his teeth, kissing her directly under the showerhead as if they were in the rain. She moaned softly into his mouth, wrapping her arms around him as they kissed. Finally, they came up for air, gasping, panting.

Sherlock shut the water off, stepping from the shower and wrapping Molly in a towel as they both shivered, free from the warmth of the water. She huddled under the towel as she started to dry herself off, watching Sherlock out of the corner of her eye. She had a sudden flash of an idea- _a nice set of bite marks gracing his alabaster skin_- and she flushed a bright red and quickly composed herself. The detective saw the flush cross her face as he wrapped the towel around his waist, shaking out his hair. "Something you care to share with the class, my Rose?"

She looked aside at him. Well...if he could make her tell her secrets, then she could keep this one from him at least. She smirked. "No, not really," she said, continuing to dry herself.

"Liar," he purred, coming up behind her and pressing a soft kiss to her neck. "You know I can always tell..."

She shivered as he kissed her neck. "I know. But still...don't feel like sharing it," she said, feeling distinctly defiant and willful.

"I have my ways of discovering secrets," he murmured, barely audible as he pulled her hair aside, kissing up to her ear. She sighed. She knew...he had demonstrated it _quite_ thoroughly in the shower. He chuckled as she refused to relent. "I'll find out soon enough. Now, get dressed. Let's see the town."

She beamed and nearly skipped out of the bathroom, finding comfortable clothes to see the sights with. She loved exploring, part of the scientist in her. He pulled on his dark blue shirt and black trousers, shrugging on his coat and scarf before turning to her and braiding her damp hair into one long plain over her right shoulder. She blinked in surprise. "A man of many talents; I had no idea you could braid," she said, looking in the mirror and admiring his handiwork.

"Nimble fingers."

She flushed brilliantly. "Well...that's the truth," she breathed.

Sherlock smiled, slowly walking around her before bending to kiss her, stopping just above her lips. Oh, he could be such a brat sometimes. She stood on her tiptoes and went the rest of the way, grabbing the lapels of his coat to bring him to her.

He chuckled, keeping the kiss chaste and taking her hands before breaking it, one finger fiddling with her ring. "Let's go, love, before I have you on the floor. I still might, but I'm more than a bit spent." He smirked at her, levity in his eyes. Molly blushed again, even hotter this time. "Right," she said, before bringing his hand to her lips and pressing a kiss to it. They soon found themselves in the little town, meandering through the shops, admiring the wares sold there.

It was wonderful just to spend time together. They ate lunch at a little cafe, and Sherlock had to resist the temptation to completely shower her with gifts; he failed miserably. Molly's arms were almost full by dinnertime. "You're going to spoil me rotten at this rate!" she said, laughing. She had gotten some things for him as well when he was out looking in another shop. She grinned as she thought of it, a bit of an inside joke from the very early days that she had known him.

"I just can't help it," he beamed at her as they deposited everything in their room. "Dress for dinner but wear comfortable shoes. I'm taking you dancing tonight."

She nodded and dressed swiftly: a white button-down shirt, and a skirt of palest blue (she got it because it matched his eyes), and comfortable black ballet flats. She was prepared for anything; even dancing.

He had several of his purple shirts by now, putting one and leaving it unbuttoned at the top. He ran his fingers through his hair in the mirror before sweeping her from the room and taking her to a small club that had food, wine, and music. She enjoyed the food and had a glass or two of excellent wine. They talked and laughed with each other, completely wrapped up in one another's presence, enjoying the music and the atmosphere.

When she'd eaten enough, Sherlock pulled Molly out onto the floor among the other couples, weaving through the group until he found a spot he liked, sliding his hands down her shoulders to her waist and starting to dance, swaying with her, pressing their hips together gently. She smiled up at him as they were pressed together, moving together to the music. She rested her head against his chest and let out a sigh of contentment. She was perfectly, wonderfully, blissfully happy. "I love you so much," she murmured, just loud enough for him to hear her.

"And I you," he grinned, twirling her out suddenly and then pulling her close, fingers brushing the flush that appeared on her cheeks. "I love when you do that."

"Hm? Do what?" she asked, head spinning slightly from how he twirled her.

"When you blush."

She flushed brighter. "O..oh. Ah...thank you?" she said, giggling.

"Is that a question?" he chuckled, smirking, his pale eyes looking into her as he brushed their noses and foreheads together. She chuckled back. "Thank you," she stated softly, leaning in and pressing a gentle kiss to his mouth. He took it, tilting his head and kissing her again, tasting the wine on her tongue, fruity and full. She hummed softly as he kissed her, his tongue dancing with hers. She heard a woman remark to her date as they passed them on the dance floor, "Now, why don't _you_ kiss _me_ like that anymore?"

Sherlock broke the kiss, laughing and holding Molly close. "Perhaps it's because-" he stopped himself, biting back the end of the sentence: _because you're sleeping with three other people and he knows and is breaking up with you tonight._

She smirked. "Good job catching yourself," she whispered into his ear. He was trying not to be so tactless...hard work, but he had steadily made improvements. He swallowed the words and kissed her instead, not trusting himself to speak just yet. Molly returned the kiss with gusto, distracting him (and showing off a little bit...she had counted not one, not two, but four women...and three men eyeing him when they had walked into the club) and entertaining them both.

He stroked the roof of her mouth with his tongue before coaxing hers up and into his mouth. Their tongues twined and she panted, feeling herself heat up for him. Using a great amount of willpower, she broke the kiss. "We have to stop or we could be arrested for public indecency," she said, a bit breathless and laughing a little. He grinned. "Suppose that means we ought to head back."

"That sounds like a fine idea to me," she said. They went and paid the check before they hurried back to their hotel. Molly couldn't wait to give him her gift; Sherlock was intrigued by her hurry to return. "What is so urgent?" he asked, laughing as she all but dragged him into the elevator. She nearly couldn't contain her glee as the elevator went up the floors before gently pinging to theirs. She led the way to their room. "I got a gift for you that I think you'd like..." she said as she opened the door to where they were staying. She had Sherlock sit on the bed and took out a box, placing it in his lap.

He opened it, jaw dropping. She grinned as he took out a brand new riding crop. His old one had been either lost or destroyed, and she thought it would be a wonderful gift, an inside joke (as well has having...potential).

"Molly," he breathed, running his hands over the leather. "It's gorgeous. Thank you!"

She beamed and laughed. "I thought you'd like it...if nothing else, it'd give you a laugh," she said.

"I love it." He stared at it in awe. "I missed my old one..."

"I figured that out when you started swinging the bow to your violin around absentmindedly; normally, you'd treat it much more gently than that," she said. She had deductive powers of her own, and, while not as brilliant as Sherlock's, she could use them to her advantage quite well.

He raised an eyebrow. "Hmmm, interesting. I do usually...I suppose I hadn't realized just how much I missed this."

"Don't know when or if you'll need it for testing bruise shapes on cadavers," she said, breaking into laughter once more. That was certainly a memorable day in the morgue..._she had stood outside the lab, watching him beat the...(well, she'd say 'living daylights', but...corpse) tar out of a body. In fact...if she wasn't mistaken, that was the same day he met John_. Sherlock swung it a few times, flexing it experimentally before handing it to her. "You chose well."

She took it from him and twirled it expertly between her fingers before bringing it whistling through the air to stop a hairsbreadth from his chest. She smirked at him. "Thank you," she said.

His breath caught in his chest as he stared at the crop, one long, pale finger coming up to touch it. She watched as he slowly touched the riding crop, her eyebrows rising slightly. A new discovery about her beloved Sherlock, perchance? Maybe that's why he got along so well with Irene Adler... However, she had to put that thought out of her head as a surge of jealousy, white-hot and bitter, rose within her. He saw her eyes darken and the pupils blow. "Molly?"

She shook her head slightly to clear it. "Nothing...silly thoughts," she said lightly as she put the riding crop gently back into its box. He caught her hand. "You were thinking about using it."

She started, taken a bit by surprise. She supposed, deep, deep down, in some darker part of her, she had. "Not necessarily," she said slowly. Sherlock cocked his head, smirking very slightly. "Do you want to?"

Molly's eyes went very wide. "Ah...I...I don't know," she said faintly. This was the truth...her thoughts were jumbled up like a box of puzzle pieces, all of them interconnecting but not making sense.

"Molly, I can read it in your eyes."

She swallowed hard. "Ah...maybe," she said softly. Although, truth be told, she wouldn't mind if he used it (gently!) on her either...He raised an eyebrow, fully smirking at her. "I'm not opposed to the idea you know..."

Her eyes went very wide and the room seemed a tad warmer than usual. "Oh," she said faintly. He chuckled. "_Now_ you're embarrassed?"

She shook her head. "Not embarrassed...ah...surprised," she said, giving a half-smile.

"Why are you surprised?"

"I honestly never thought of you to be the...um...rough type," she said, her face going bright red. Mental images of her being bound to the bedposts while he had his wicked way with her suddenly flooded her head, causing her to emit a strange, strangled noise. That was...oh my goodness...His trousers grew very tight as his own mind flooded with rather appealing images. "Well then," he breathed, glancing down and back up at her. "What do you suggest we do about _that_?"

She cleared her throat, then smirked wickedly. "Practice?" she suggested innocently, removing the riding crop from its box and gently tracing the outline of his cock through his trousers with the supple leather. He shuddered, eyes almost crossing. "Oh Jesus," he muttered. Her smirk took on a darker edge. "Strip," she commanded, adding slight pressure to the crop, her pupils dilated so wide that her eyes looked black. _Practice indeed_. He blanched. "Yes," he whispered, unbuttoning his shirt and pulling down his zip.

Molly hesitated at his startled look, wondering if she was going a bit too far. He shrugged out of his shirt and stood to toe off his shoes and drop his trousers. She tapped his chest with the end of the riding crop. "Slower," she said, looking him straight in the eyes. Her knees were going weak and the corners of her lips began to curl up. This was...heady, intoxicating; she could get used to this, especially since he was clearly enjoying it, judging by the straining bulge in his pants. He swallowed hard, obeying, slowing down his movements until he stood in only his pants and socks.

"Socks off," she said, watching as he swallowed hard. She was on fire, the heat of her want for him made her feel like she was burning from the inside out. He lifted his foot, slowly tugging the sock off, dropping it in front of her before doing the same with his other.

"Now pants," she murmured, watching him move. Taking a deep breath, he slid them slowly down over his arousal until he stood naked before her.

Her breath stuttered in her throat as he stood naked in front of her, fully aroused. She traced the length of him with the end of the riding crop, up and down and around, her eyes never leaving his face. She wanted to gauge his reaction, to see what he did. He seemed to alternate between blushing and going pale, not daring to move, staring right back at her. She swallowed hard. "Now undress me," she said, before she put the crop down on the bed. The moment was charged, she could fairly see the electricity in the air around them.

He reached out, managing to steady his hands as he slowly slipped off her skirt, gently tugging off her blouse. Her bra was next and he fumbled with the catch for a moment before getting it off. She stayed his hands as he went for her knickers. "No," she said. She had an idea, a repeat of last night's teasing. "On your back, on the bed," she directed. When he did as she told him, she slowly slid down her pants and kicked them away before getting on the bed and straddling him. She brushed her sex against his, not allowing him to enter her. "Do you want me?" she breathed in his ear, giving his earlobe a quick nip with her teeth.

"Yes, yes I do," he moaned back.

"How much do you want me?" she asked, dragging herself along his length again, adding a bit more pressure but still denying him.

"More than anything...Molly I want you so much."

"'More than anything'? Aaah... so I guess it would be cruel of me just to leave you here," she said. She had _no_ idea where this was coming from, but she was running with it.

His eyes widened. "Don't...don't leave me hard..._Molly_. please" he begged.

She ground against him once, hard, still denying him entry. Then she had an idea that was...devious and sultry and altogether naughty. "Beg. For. Mercy." she breathed in his ear, moving her hips against him with each word. He bit his lip, clearly struggling with it. "I don't beg," he started, gasping when she pulled away.

She grabbed the crop and lightly smacked his leg with it. "You will for me," she said, showing her teeth in a feral grin as she started to withdraw.

"M-m-mercy," he whispered

She cocked her head to one side. "Hm? What was that?" she asked.

"Mercy," he said, louder, forcing his eyes open to look at her. She grinned. "One. More Time," she purred.

"_Mercy_."

She finally gave him what he begged for (three times, no less...take _that_, Irene Adler) and sank down onto him, feeling him impale her. She threw her head back and moaned. Sherlock's neck arched against the pillows as he thrust his hips up to meet her. Molly set a decent pace, riding him hard. She knew that neither of them was going to last much longer; and she wondered if Sherlock wanted a turn. Heaven knows that he was going to want payback for this...

"Hit me," he panted, "with the crop...Molly..."

She hesitated, but took the crop and gave him a smart blow to first one leg, then the other. He groaned, thrusting harder. "Chest..."

She nodded and wound up, delivering a decent blow to his chest. Enough to sting, not enough to really hurt. He gasped. "Oh fuck, yes...god Molly."

She shuddered as he swore and his thrusts increased in speed and force. She wound up and hit him again, slightly harder this time. He shouted her name and came hard, writhing under her. She came soon after, keening his and clenching the crop in her hands so hard that she had imprints from the leather in her palms. It took nearly two full minutes for Sherlock to regain his sight and another two for his heart to slow down. "Oh my god..."

Molly merely nodded. She couldn't speak just yet; she was still shuddering. He gently pulled her off him, prying the crop from her fingers and dropping it on the pile of boxes and bags next to the bed. Finally, after what felt like ages, she regained control of her mental faculties. "Holy _fuck_," she gasped. "That was...Jesus...that was...amazing."

He laughed softly, kissing the top of her head. "Indeed it was."

She basked in the afterglow. "So...I don't think we got it quite right, despite the quality. We're going to have to practice more," she declared, giving him a cheeky grin. "Not right away!" she added quickly. She didn't think either of them could handle much more.

"Might have to tie you to the bedposts after your little stunt making me beg," he purred in her ear. Her breath left her in a rush. "Oh," she murmured.

He smirked. "Stretched out...begging for me..." he watched her twitch, grinning to himself as he kissed her head. She bit her lip and twitched as he described what he would do. Her breathing kicked up again and she squirmed slightly.

"Relax...not tonight, Rose. Could you sing to me, perhaps?"

She sat up and nodded. "Of course," she said, gathering him to her. She thought for a moment. "You'll remember me when the west wind moves upon the fields of barley; you'll forget the sun in his jealous sky, when we walked in fields of gold. So she took her love for to gaze a while, upon the fields of barley. In his arms she fell as her hair came down, among the fields of gold..." she sang, her voice easily fitting the song. (1)

He felt tears prick his eyes at the image_...them in a field in the sun, him pale, her glowing, their dark haired child..._

She stroked his hair, a little concerned as she felt his breath hitch a bit. "Are you all right?" she asked him.

"I can see our child."

She felt distinctly breathless. She held him tighter. "And what does our child look like?" she asked him, hardly daring to hope in sharing this dream, recalling the errant thought that went through her head when they had started sleeping together:..._a warm sunlit room, Sherlock singing to their baby..._

"Dark, curly hair like mine, pale like me...my eyes...a boy...your mouth...my nose...oh god, your smile..."

Her heart stuttered. That was...almost uncannily accurate. "Do you remember after the first few times we made love when I thought I could have been pregnant? I...I thought almost the exact same thing. You...singing to our baby..." she said softly.

He rolled her over so that he could look into her eyes. "You did?"

She nodded and smiled. "I did..."

He started to smile. "Molly...I-I think I want to have a baby."

Molly's heart fluttered and she grinned, her eyes filling with happy tears. "Yes. A baby. _Our_ baby," she breathed. He kissed her, holding her closer, everything feeling different this time. She kissed him back, holding him tightly. She'd go off the pill tomorrow. No sense in waiting...

"I love you, I love you, I love you," he sang softly, lips pressing all over her face. (2)

"And I will always love you," she sang back, bending her head and kissing the skin over his heart. They finally fell asleep in each other's arms, smiling and humming, damp with sweat and smelling of sex but both smiling very contentedly.

_The songs in this Chapter..._

_(1)- Fields of Gold - Sting_

_(2)- Michelle - The Beatles_


	11. Chapter 9

_**Very light BDSM, cropping, extreme fluff and romance, smexy times, snogging, fancy dinners all that good stuff we know and love; the second day of Sherlock and Molly's honeymoon.**_

Chapter 9: Dominate

Molly woke first the next morning, sore from the previous night's fun. She winced a bit as she stretched then looked over at Sherlock, smiling softly. Their plans from last night were still fresh in her mind; _they wanted to have a child_. She hummed as she got out of bed and walked over to the shower, intent on cleaning herself of sweat and both of their release. He woke to the sound of water running, still too relaxed to move, mulling over everything from the night before.

She finished quickly, coming out of the bathroom in a billow of steam with nothing but a towel on. She smiled when she saw him awake, lounging on the bed. "Good morning, my dearest love," she said softly, walking over to the bed, bending down and pressing a kiss to his mouth. He leaned up, kissing her back and smelling flowers. "Morning," he murmured, carefully rising.

Her eyes widened as she saw rather livid bruises gracing his chest and legs, a hand flying up to cover her mouth. "Oh my god...I'm so sorry! I had no idea I was hitting you so hard...I was too rough," she said, fretting.

"Shhhh, calm down," he started laughing to see her so worried and hugged her close. "Honestly, Molly, I'm fine."

She peered up at him. "You're sure?" she asked, still feeling guilty.

"Molly, I've suffered far worse. I promise."

She finally let her worry drain some, before giving the black and blue flesh at his sternum a tender kiss. He smiled, petting her wet hair. "I need a shower."

She smiled back at him. "All right. I'll be here," she said.

He stepped into the hot water, using the shower as a cover to hiss against the pain of the bruises. He washed carefully, putting the pain in the back of his mind before stepping out, shaking out his hair, toweling off and putting on his cologne. She had dressed in a deep blue shirt and jeans; she knew how he loved her in blue. Molly was smiling to herself. A baby. _Their_ baby. The thought just kept showing up, and she reveled in it.

Sherlock smiled at her choice of color, dressing once more in her favorite purple before wordlessly dragging her out the door. He took her to breakfast, both eating until they could barely move before he was off again, excited, energetic, unable to keep still. They went to a different part of town that day, and he took her to several stores mid morning to sample chocolates, insisting on feeding her the samples; he had waited until they had some of their appetites back. Lunch was at another outdoor cafe, and they watched the world go by. Sherlock helped Molly brush up on her powers of deduction before taking her to a park, where they walked hand-in-hand, looking at the swans and the ducks and the pigeons before heading back for the shops. He bought her a gorgeous blue dress and a few flowing blouses (red, blue, and purple) before they went back to the hotel to deposit their things and dress up: a fancy dinner in store. He had packed his spare tux, not telling her ahead of time and practically bursting with excitement for her to see him in it again.

Molly donned the blue dress, turning to ask Sherlock to help her with the zip up the back when she heard the bathroom door open. However, when she faced him, her question died in her throat. He was wearing a tuxedo, looking just...amazing. Her jaw dropped and she had to remind herself to close it. "Jesus, Mary and Joseph," she said faintly, feeling the room grow warmer. The man was gorgeous, and he was her husband. She felt herself glow with both pride and lust...she would be the envy of any woman in the world. Sherlock beamed at her expression, coming over and helping her zip it up, pulling her hair back and kissing her neck gently before pulling away. "Your sapphires, I think."

She felt goose bumps rise on her skin as he kissed the back of her neck. She nodded, still struck dumb by him, wordlessly putting the earrings in.

He pulled out a box from his tux and handed it to her. "These as well."

She set the box aside for the moment to fasten the clips from their wedding day in her hair before she opened it. Her jaw dropped again; a bracelet and necklace to match her earrings and wedding band. "Oh my God...Sherlock..._thank you_," she said, as she put on both pieces of new jewelry. She turned and pulled him to her in a fiery kiss...her 'thank you' that words couldn't convey. He smiled, catching her tongue for a moment before hugging her to him. She clutched him tighter to her. She loved this man, so much and so dearly.

"Dinner time."

She nodded, not wanting to let him go just yet. Finally, she relented and followed him, eager to see where he led her.

The hotel had two restaurants, one that they had eaten in twice, the other he'd made sure she didn't know about. It was stupidly posh, prices staggering and everyone dressed as if on the first deck of the Titanic, but the wine was good and the food even better. Her eyes widened as he led her through an elaborate set of double doors, momentarily blinded by the finery. A waiter came and showed them to their table and Molly just looked around, taking everything in. Sherlock smiled at her expression again, ordering their drinks as she looked at the menu. Her eyes almost fell out of her head when she looked at the menu. All the food was so expensive, and he had already gotten her so much. She bit her lip and found the least expensive thing on the menu (perhaps the most elaborate way to describe 'chicken noodle soup' that she had ever seen) and waited for their drinks to arrive.

"Mycroft is paying for it all, so don't feel you have to go cheap. In fact, I encourage you to order the most expensive thing you think you will eat," he said, smiling at her.

_Well then_. She smiled at him and ordered something considerably more substantial (and expensive). The food was exquisite, the wine beyond compare, and the company...well, she wouldn't trade the company for all the money the world could give her. He did his people-watching for her again as they sat there, complimenting her when she got ones right; he even had her in tears of laughter at some of the deductions he made. His steak was magnificent, and they fed each other bites of their food. He ordered dessert for them: a crème brule that Mycroft would die for. She beamed at him. This was one of the best nights of her life.

When they'd finished and the table was clear, the floor at the front of the room opened up for dancing. He rose and bowed, offering his hand. "May I have this dance?"

She smiled and took his hand. "I would be delighted," she told him as the string quartet started with Vivaldi. Sherlock was an excellent lead and he kept her from bumping into anyone or stepping on his toes. It was easy to keep Molly's balance for her, almost lifting her off the floor with every step and twirl and smiling as she fought down whoops of laughter. Molly beamed up at him, loving the graceful way he moved with her, floating around the dance floor. She looked like an angel, _my salvation_, he found himself thinking as they danced, seeing the laughter and love in her eyes.

Finally, the music stopped and there was a brief pause as the string quartet rested and changed their music. Everyone on the dance floor stopped and applauded the musicians. Molly looked into Sherlock's eyes; there was a nearly unreadable emotion there. She stretched up on her toes and pressed a brief kiss to his mouth. The musicians started up again, the piece a slow, stately waltz. He closed his eyes into the kiss, letting the music thrum through him as he led her in the next dance, holding her close as they waltzed. 1-2-3...1-2-3... She followed his footsteps, the 1-2-3 beat easy to fall into. She could feel his heartbeat as he held her close and she rested her head on his chest, allowing her eyes to close for a moment as a contented smile flitted across her face.

He pressed a gentle kiss to her hair, humming the tune of the waltz softly as they danced. She glanced around; they were the only ones on the dance floor now; the rest of the couples had gone back to their tables or were watching them. She flushed, a bit self-conscious about being watched, but then she realized that as long as she had Sherlock with her, she didn't mind at all.

"Ignore them, they're jealous," he murmured, showing off slightly as he took her hand and straightened up, putting his years of dancing lessons as a boy to use. She laughed a little as he led her into a grand, sweeping spin, standing proud and straight. Dancing seemed like it came second nature to him, to which she wasn't overly surprised. He bowed to her when the dance was over, his gesture met with a curtsey before leading his wife back to their table and pulling out her chair before pouring her another glass of wine. She sipped at it, alternating with her glass of water; the wine was rather potent, and the last thing she wanted was to be drunk. Although, to be quite honest, she already was: drunk on Sherlock.

Sherlock watched her, fascinated. "A pathologist in her very late twenties, consumed with unrequited love for a detective for the better part of five years, finally showing him what it means to love and be loved, his first in every sense of the word, finally rescuing him from everything and marrying him." He smiled. "Did I get it right?"

She beamed at him, blushing furiously. "Not quite; I should like to say that the detective and the pathologist rescued each other," she said. He raised an eyebrow. "There's always something."

She laughed. "To err is human," she said, a gentle chiding reminder.

"To forgive, divine."

Molly raised her glass of water in salute to that statement before taking another drink. She sighed before setting it down, then looking at Sherlock. "I can hardly believe this is real," she said softly, taking his hand with hers, brushing her thumb across his wedding band.

"I most certainly share that sentiment," he said, nodding at the salute before taking a sip of his own, the flavor finally beginning to grow on him. She smiled at him over the rim of her glass. They sat there and talked for another hour or so, until she noticed that people had started clearing out. "Hm...we should probably head back to the room," she said as she watched another three couples leave.

"I suppose." He charged dinner to their room, smirking at the bill as he swept her off, steadying her as she was slightly unsteady. She wobbled slightly; the wine had gone to her head a bit. "Whoops...a little too much," she said as she held is arm for support. "And these shoes aren't helping," she muttered. She slid off her heels and sighed in relief, carrying them by the straps. "Much better."

He chuckled, insisting on carrying her the rest of the way to their room, laying her on their bed and shutting the door. "Better?"

She giggled. "Much," she said, stretching luxuriously, enjoying the way the cloth of her dress felt against her skin. He watched her for a moment, taking off his jacket, tie, and cummerbund before toeing off his shoes and laying next to her, propping himself up on his elbow. She rolled over to face him. "You look positively divine in a tuxedo," she said, playing absently with the collar of his shirt.

"Why thank you, and that dress makes you look like a dream if I do say so."

She laughed. "Well, you _did_ pick it out for me," she said, undoing the top two buttons of his shirt and gently tracing the exposed skin underneath it with her fingertips. He hummed softly, eyes closing as she touched him. "You're drunk, if not very buzzed, dear."

She made a slightly indignant noise. "I only had two glasses. Buzzed, m'love. Not drunk."

He raised an eyebrow. "Hmmmm..."

She raised an eyebrow right back. "If I were drunk, I'd be a lot more giggly," she said.

"So, you're a happy drunk?"

Molly nodded. "Better a happy drunk than a weepy one. Or an angry one," she said. She blanched, suddenly remembering Sherlock's brief mentions of his father. She shut up, then started apologizing profusely.

"Molly, Molly, stop, it's all right," Sherlock murmured, pressing his finger to her lips. "He's long gone."

She stopped, then nodded, pressing a kiss against his fingertips. He slipped his finger into her mouth, curious; he'd never done this before. She smirked, then trailed her tongue around his finger, sucking slightly. He gasped, then moaned, head leaning forward. "Oh Jesus..."

She nipped the tip of his finger lightly before releasing it with a small _pop_ in favor of claiming his mouth. Apparently, he _really_ liked that. _You_ _learn something new every day_, she mused in her head. He kissed her, mouths and tongues moving together as he grasped the back of her head and pressed her closer. Molly could taste the wine from dinner in his mouth, and she smiled against his lips.

He drank her in, intoxicated by her smell and taste and very presence. How it was possible to want someone this much perplexed him, but he didn't complain, and he soon stopped trying to rationalize it all together. She pressed closer against him, loving his warmth and his scent and his closeness. Her heart thrummed against her ribs as she wound her fingers through his black curls as she nipped his lower lip. He growled playfully. "I do believe it's my turn with the riding crop, Hooper."

She looked at him, eyes wide and dark with lust. She didn't even care that he used her maiden name. "Yes," she said, breathless.

"Stand. Hand it to me. Slowly, though, don't want you getting any ideas, now do we?"

She swallowed hard and did as she was told. She slowly stood and drew the riding crop from its box and extending it to him, sliding her fingers and hands along the supple leather. She could feel her breath coming shorter already. He took it from her, allowing it to slide from her grasp before rapping the back of her hand with it lightly. "You were naughty last night, Miss Hooper. Very naughty indeed. Do you know why?" He did not move from his spot on the bed yet, taking in her expression as he spoke, his voice very low, almost an animalistic purr.

She felt a small thrill of fear and a larger one of anticipation run up her spine as she felt the slight sting on the back of her hand. She licked her lips to wet them before she spoke. "Ah...I...I made you b-beg," she said, the old stammer that she used to have around him coming back slightly.

"That's right." He slowly sat up, standing in one fluid motion to tower over her, twirling the crop expertly in his fingers. "I. Do. _Not_. Beg. Not for anyone. Understand?"

She swallowed hard again and nodded, feeling very small and vulnerable as he towered over her. She loved it. His eyebrow twitched as she looked brazenly back at him. "Too many clothes," he muttered, trailing the crop down the bodice of her dress before lightly smacking her hip. "Discard this thing."

She flinched slightly as he smacked her hip lightly with the crop and did as she was told, but struggled with the zipper. She bit her lip as she tried to reach it. He clicked his tongue. "Child," he muttered, easing the top of it down to her fingers. She glared at him, but unzipped the dress the rest of the way, letting it pool around her ankles in a soft swish of silk. She stepped out of it and faced him in her bra and pants. He stroked her cheek with the crop. "Now, now, that look is so unbecoming on your pretty little face."

She shivered and let her face relax and her eyes close, leaning into the smooth leather slightly. He tapped her face with it. "Please, don't drool." He stood there, expectantly. "Well? Aren't you going to help me with this?" He gestured to the remains of his tux. She bit her lip as she went to him, deftly undoing the remaining buttons of his shirt before sliding it off of his shoulders. She let her fingers trail down to the button and zipper of his trousers, hesitating slightly before she knelt to undo them, pulling his trousers down from around his hips. She stayed kneeling, looking up at him and waiting for his next command.

"Hmmmmmm..." He stared down at her, so expectant and willing. A smirk tugged the corners of his mouth. "You may touch if you want," he said, fixing a look of boredom on his face as he thought about where the things he needed were. She took a breath before she gently ran her fingers along his still-covered length, to his hips and down his thighs. She leaned in and tentatively kissed the cloth of his pants, letting out a sigh, a gust of hot breath before settling back on her heels again, hands set on her thighs. His face didn't move, although he was very pleased. "More."

She reached up and started tugging his pants down, taking her time, letting the cloth drag over his arousal before it sprang free. He bit back a groan, pressing her head to his tip with the crop, bringing her lips to it.

She enveloped the tip of his cock with her mouth, suckling it lightly, running her tongue around it before slowly taking more of his length. He pressed more insistently, taking mental note of the final few things he needed. She relaxed her throat before taking all of him, swallowing him to the hilt, looking up at him through her eyelashes. He tapped the back of her head. "You dare to look at me so brazenly?"

She quickly lowered her eyes. A thrill went through her; this was new and this was..._interesting_. He shifted his weight, giving every impression of boredom, not even looking at her.

She slowly added pressure, shifting slightly as heat flared between her legs. She moved her tongue along the underside of him, swallowing again, letting the muscles of her mouth and throat caress him.

"Don't touch yourself, you slut. Don't even think about it." His voice was much rougher than he'd intended, swallowing to regain control. She started at his language. That stung a bit. But his voice was rough and low and she quickly glanced up, seeing him swallow hard to keep his control. She continued her ministrations on him, her jaw starting to ache.

"Don't look up!" He smacked her shoulder, nearly ready to move forward. She flinched against the smack of the crop and made a slight whimper, averting her eyes again.

"Good girl," he purred, pulling her off him gently by her hair. "Now, go lie down, head by the pillows, arms up."

She released him as he pulled her hair, gasping slightly. She did as she was told, spreading her arms up and out, having a bit of an idea where this was going next. She kept her eyes downcast, or looked carefully away from him. She was learning. He retrieved two ties from his suitcase, binding her wrists to the headboard and backing up to survey her. He used the crop to arrange her hair away from her face. "Hmmm, still missing something..."

She arched her back a bit, testing the bonds. they held tight; Sherlock was a master with knots as well. He said that he was still missing something, and she wondered what it was, feeling the thrill of anticipation grow.

"You're _enjoying_ this, aren't you," he hissed, erect cock jutting from his body as he stood over her before giving her two sound whacks with the crop on either side of her ribcage, enough to leave a blossoming red mark but not quite hard enough to bruise. She gasped at the sting of the crop before hesitantly nodding, still not meeting his eyes.

"Perhaps I'll just leave you like this, wound up with no place to go-"

She whimpered. "No, please..."

"No, please _what_?"

She bit her lip. "No, please... master," she said, a dark thrill running through her.

His lip curled. "Well, now, this is a surprise." He knelt on the bed next to her, stroking her nipples where they were straining against her bra with the crop, relishing the shiver that went through her. She arched her back as he stroked her breasts and nipples with the crop, her breath sobbing in her throat as she shuddered. She could feel herself positively dripping, the crotch of her pants soaked. He pulled her breasts up so that they were half out, restricted by her bra before tugging off her knickers, smacking her legs as he looked her over.

Her nipples grew harder in the cool air, her bra was half-off, still fastened around her back. She had a fleeting thought that he wouldn't be able to take it off since her wrists were bound to the headboard and she couldn't move her arms to slide through the straps. He watched her figure everything out, enjoying the look of panic and pleasure on her face. "Well, then, Hooper, shall we get started?"

She swallowed hard. He was going to take her like this, he was going to be rough and she was going to _love_ it. She was feeling slightly panicked but so aroused that she didn't care. She nodded. He leaned his body over the length of hers, taunting her by not touching her at all. She whimpered, arching up, feeling the heat of his body but he wasn't letting him touch her. "Please...oh _please,_" she begged.

He backed away. "You do as I say, not as you want."

She nearly cried, but nodded. He was in control, holding the reins (or the crop, more like it).

"Very good," he purred, rewarding her with a kiss. She melted into the kiss, feeling it spark through her. It was over too soon, and she was feeling increasingly frustrated. He pulled back before biting her neck where it met her shoulder, leaving a trail of bites down her chest to the top of her breasts. She gasped at the feel of his teeth on her flesh; the crook of her neck and shoulder, then down to the top of her breasts. His teeth were sharp and felt like fire and ice against her sensitive skin.

Sherlock kissed and bit her stomach, teasing her naval with his tongue before pulling back and sitting on his heels, still fairly hard as he watched her. Molly moaned as his mouth trailed down her stomach, dipping his tongue into her navel. She bit her lip hard, so hard that she drew blood. She didn't care if it earned her another hit with the crop, she stared at him, her eyes meeting his. His pupils were fully dilated, leaving only the thinnest ring of ice blue iris. Her breath was coming in gasps and everything was slowing down. She shivered at the loss of his body heat, whimpering softly.

He pulled away to come back up and meet her eyes, barely any space between them. "You really enjoy disobeying me," he hissed. She quickly averted her gaze, breath coming even quicker, body tensing with anticipation for another strike even as she shook her head.

He took her bleeding lip in his mouth, sucking hard and tasting her blood. Her eyelids fluttered and shut as he took his lip into her mouth and cleaned the blood from it. She whimpered as he added pressure, the small wound stinging slightly.

"That hurt?"

She hesitated but nodded. It had hurt a little.

"There should be no hesitation. I ask and you answer."

She nodded again.

"Good girl." He straddled her easily, stroking her folds with his tip, watching her face carefully. He knew she wouldn't be able to resist, the little masochist. She threw her head back into the pillows, arching her hips against him, face contorted in sheer want. Her breath sobbed in her throat...oh, she wanted him so much that it _hurt_.

He withdrew, sighing and smacking her wrists. She whined as he moved away, flinching again as he smacked her wrists. This was torture...sheer, absolute torture.

"If you'd just behave, I would take you, but you are such a little pain whore," he muttered, stroking her with his fingers. She flinched away from his touch; his words stung more than the crop did.

He raised an eyebrow. "Problem?" Then, breaking the façade, "Molly, are you all right?"

"You don't have to be mean about it," she said softly.

"I'm lost, Molly."

" 'Slut', 'pain whore'...that's...that's a bit too far, Sherlock," she said.

"I'm sorry...Molly I'm sorry."

She nodded, not looking at him.

He leaned down and kissed her softly, soothing her, wiping off his hands and cupping her face with his long, pale fingers She kissed him back, his apology accepted, his lips quickly fanning the flames that had cooled.

He started grinding against her, letting the warmth spread between them as an apology. She gasped, her hips bucking almost against her will, her hands gripping the ties where they bound her to the headboard.

"What did I say about obedience?"

She stopped at once, but with difficulty, falling back quickly into her place. He smiled, kissing her deeply as a reward. "Are you ready, then?"

She moaned into the kiss, then nodded vigorously.

"Verbal answer, Hooper."

She swallowed, her mouth dry. "Yes...yes master," she gasped.

"Good girl." He slowly pressed in, only halfway, gently thrusting shallowly but not going in too deep. She let out a shuddering moan as he only entered her halfway and started thrusting gently. Oh..._tease_. She had to fight to not thrust against him, letting him do as he would.

"Very good, oh very good, my dear," he purred, sucking a bruise on her neck as he went in just a little deeper. She gasped as he went slowly deeper, his rumbling purr vibrating against her. Again, she fought to stay still, panting with the effort, her toes curling and uncurling as she fought to stay in control.

He smiled. "Go ahead, you may respond now."

She _growled_, thrusting up, taking him all the way into her. She linked her ankles around his hips, driving him in, keeping him there. She was so keyed up that she nearly came at once, shuddering, spasms rocking through her.

He drove into her, ignoring her climax as he served his own need, pounding her into the sheets and making her arch and gasp and keen. She said his name over and over again, a prayer, a plea, a supplication, a hymn. He ignored it, his breath growing more and more ragged until he came and screamed her name, shuddering and spasming as he filled her. Molly came again, shaking and whimpering; then she leaned up and bit down on his shoulder, teeth sinking into his skin, leaving bright red marks. She snarled against him, holding him there.

He growled through it as she marked him. "Naughty...girl..."

She growled again, bearing down a little harder before she released him, laving the mark of her teeth with her tongue. The bite stood out livid and red against the paleness of his skin and she felt pleased, admiring her handiwork.

"Well then...and I thought you had learned your lesson...perhaps not"

She held his gaze, feeling distinctly defiant. He pulled out of her slowly, waiting to see what she would do once she'd freed her hands when he noticed she was working herself loose.

With one more pull she was free. She moved quickly, rolling him over, straddling him, her eyes blazing. She pinned him to the mattress, hands holding his wrists. She was breathing hard, feeling dangerous and powerful, staring down at him. He raised his eyebrows. "The sub trying to take control? How touching," he smirked.

She stopped his mouth with a punishing kiss, grinding against him. He kissed back, still in his buzz from before. She bit his lower lip (not hard enough to break the skin) before moving down to trail kisses and bites down his throat, feeling his pulse thrumming fast in his neck.

"Molly," he breathed.

She ignored him. She nipped the skin of his collarbone, grinding against him again, a little harder this time. He fought her grip, surprised at her strength. He wasn't sure he had another one in him, but, _god he was twitching already_. Molly smirked; she had strong hands; years of performing autopsies, cutting through cold muscle and flesh and bone required strength. She dragged herself against him, from tip to base and back up again. He keened, head pressed back. "Oh fucking hell, what are you doing?"

"What am I doing? Sherlock Holmes, I am doing. What. I. Want." she said.

He gasped, the bite clear in her voice as she enjoyed herself. His eyes rolled back and he submitted unwillingly. She chuckled darkly, low in her throat. She took him inside of her, sliding down only a little ways, before she removed herself from him and slid her folds along his length again. He whimpered as he became hard, head thrashing against the sheets.

She leaned down and set her teeth in his throat gently, growling against his skin, feeling wild and primal. She could feel that he was hard again and she slowly, oh so slowly, took him inside of her all the way.

"Jesus...fuck...Molly!" he cried, writhing under her; he was completely surprised, none of his deductions turning up this feral goddess. She set a slow pace as she rode him, matching her heartbeat when it was at rest. She sped up her thrusts to show him what he did to her, what he _always_ did to her.

It was too much, too much all at once, but he couldn't come. He felt her fingers tighten in a ring at the case of his member just before he could, forcing the climax back down. He whined, dark curls plastered to his face

She could feel him twitching as he was about to climax. "Oh no no no, we can't have that now, can we?" she murmured, circling her fingers around the base of him and squeezing, forcing his orgasm back. The situation was reversed, and it was her turn to _torture_ him.

He was going red in the face, gasping for air as she forced him out longer, riding him harder. "Molly," he whispered, eyes rolling back, "oh Jesus."

She slowed her pace again, tightening her inner muscles around him, squeezing him hard, making short little thrusts. She grinned as she watched his eyes roll back, reveling in what she could do to him.

He could feel himself cresting again, trying to keep it from her. She saw him bite his lip and down her hand went again, circling her fingers around his base once more with another squeeze. She leaned down and dragged her teeth down the skin of his collarbone to his sternum, humming low in her throat.

"Please, Molly," he could barely speak, the fire and tension in his body overcoming all his senses.

"Not yet," she breathed, lips curling into a smirk as she sped up once more.

"Why?" The word was a prayer

She thought for a moment, never stopping her movements. "A cross between 'because I can' and 'a bit of revenge,'" she panted.

He couldn't open his eyes, just had to go along for the ride. She was completely in control, lording her power over him and he couldn't fight back. Finally, when she couldn't stand it any longer herself, she sped up, willing him to let go as she felt herself winding up.

Finally, oh god, _finally_, he thought as he came harder than he ever had, bucking up against her, his words and moans completely lost in his throat, barely able to make a sound, stars blurring his vision. She felt him come hard, almost making no sound, his eyes shut. She came as well, a one-two punch as she shattered around him. As she calmed down, she bent and pressed her lips to the hollow of his throat, panting.

It took him several minutes to come back to his body, convinced for a moment that he had died. He became aware of his breathing and her mouth on his skin but still could not form a single sound. She rested on top of him, letting go of his wrists, feeling his heart pounding against her.

He swallowed several times, trying to make his tongue work to no avail. He couldn't open his eyes either, just resting against the damp sheets. She hummed in contentment as she pressed afterglow kisses to his skin. Jesus...that was...intense, to say the least.

He finally made a noise that he thought sounded like her name, but he couldn't be sure. Slowly, she slid off of him, wincing. They would both be sore tomorrow morning. He opened his eyes, spots blurring his vision. He tried her name again, a bit clearer this time

"Hmm?" she murmured in response, resting next to him, feeling the sheets stick to her skin as his release drained out of her. It was all he could say as he fell asleep, sticking to the sheets, his body on fire. She fell asleep soon after him, both of them completely worn out by each other.

_**Yeah...so...that all just happened. More fun and fluff to come in the next chapter as well as proof that lady corvidae and I are absolute nerds. Read and respond!**_


	12. Chapter 10

_**Day three of the honeymoon. There will be more discussions of the big decision made the night before as well as some really precious, fun moments. More fluff and smexy times with just a hint of angst.**_

Chapter 10: Blissful Torture and New Beginnings

Sherlock woke sticky and sore, aching everywhere, the slightest movement a chore. He shifted slightly and promptly fell off the bed; Molly woke up when she heard a loud -_thud_- and a curse. "Sherlock?" she said, her voice still clogged with sleep. "You all right?"

"M'fine."

She groaned as she sat up, everything aching and burning. "Whoof. That was...extreme," she said as she got off the bed to help him up. He groaned, only able to make it to his knees. "Shower."

She nodded. "Need help?" she said, raising an eyebrow as he walked on his knees to the bathroom.

"M'fine," he repeated, crawling into the shower and letting an icy spray hit him. She started as she heard him yell, going as quickly as she could to see what was wrong. Molly saw him looking like a drowned cat, fighting with the knobs and the shower head, which had fallen from its stand. She shut the water off, and Sherlock glared at the offending object. That did it; she started laughing, falling to her knees beside the tub, her legs unable to hold her up.

"_What_ is so funny?" he growled, shivering and aching on the slippery tub floor.

"Sorry...I'm sorry," she gasped. She turned towards the shower again, putting on the hot water this time. He groaned and sat back, letting the water work out his tense muscles.

She moved the water over him, focusing on his back and shoulders, then his chest and legs. She only let the water go so she could grab the shampoo and work it into his scalp. It was only then that she noticed the bruises around her wrists, circling the skin in shades of blue and green. She blushed, remembering exactly what had caused it as she massaged Sherlock's scalp.

He kept his eyes closed, letting her work and humming his thanks. She did this for a long while, longer than needed, and finally, when her hands started to ache, she said "Tilt your head back, dearest," as she took up the shower head again to rinse his hair before moving on to the conditioner.

He did, letting her work out the tangles with conditioner before she move on to his body. He didn't let her touch his manhood though. It still ached from the night before. She lathered up a washcloth with soap and moved it along his body, avoiding his sex as it looked a bit raw. She scrubbed gently, adding pressure to his sore muscles before turning up the heat a little on the shower to let the hot water soothe away the aches as she rinsed him off.

Sherlock was able to move a bit after she was done, struggling slightly to stand but managing to get out of the tub, shivering again as the heat left. Molly wrapped a towel around him before she stood as well, feeling the dull ache in her muscles as she moved.

"You-need one too," he mumbled, trying to help and almost falling over again, shaking his head to clear it of his exhaustion.

She kissed him chastely on the cheek. "I can take care of myself, I'm a big girl. You need to go back to bed...you're about ready to fall over," she murmured.

"Sheets are dirty," he mumbled as he went back to the room, pulling the duvet off the bed and curling up on it. She laughed softly as she watched him before coming back into the room and stripped the sheets from the bed. "C'mon, sheets are off, I think we can make do with a bare mattress for now," she said, rubbing his back. Groaning, he got up, tugging the duvet with him. "Come back after your shower," he mumbled.

Molly smiled. "Of course," she said. She walked into the bathroom and set the shower almost as hot as it could go, groaning with relief as it hit her sore muscles. Sherlock didn't quite fall asleep as his mind managed to come back in bits and pieces, his body aching even more but relieved that he could think again. She took a long shower, not wanting to get out of the hot water. Finally, she did, wrapping the towel around her as she dried off, then donning a fluffy bathrobe. She went and lay next to Sherlock on the bed, letting out a contented sigh.

"Better?" His voice sounded more normal to him.

"Hmmmm...much," she mumbled.

"Good." He wrapped an arm around her. "What exactly happened last night?"

She blinked. "I think, well, to be poetic and overdramatic, the abyss stared back into us," she said, chuckling slightly.

"Meaning we essentially shagged each other absolutely senseless."

"Pretty much."

Sherlock chuckled, wincing slightly. "I don't think I ever want to move again."

She nodded. "I second that motion," she said, nestling into him under the duvet, merely enjoying the heat of his body. He kissed the top of her head, the both of them drifting off, waking to the rather loud rumbling of his stomach mid-afternoon.

She rolled over and woke up, her stomach complaining. She sat up and stretched, still sore as all hell. "Augh, going to feel that for a while," she mumbled to herself as she winced. She looked at Sherlock. "So, we should probably get some food," she said as she swung her legs off the bed.

"Room service. Order as much as you want."

Molly perused the menu. "Do you want me to order for you as well?" she asked him over her shoulder.

"Please."

She looked again, before ordering them both a soup and sandwich set; she was feeling childish, so it was grilled cheese and tomato soup. Of course, seeing as this was a high end hotel, it was put in more fancy and elaborate wording that that.

Sherlock let her get the food when it came, finally managing to prop himself up when she brought it back. She balanced the tray and brought it to the bed, sitting across from him as she removed the cover from the plates. "Tuck in," she said, smiling.

He smiled back, the pair of them eating slowly and wanting the moment to last. Molly adjusted the belt of her robe as she felt it starting to come undone; the last thing she wanted was hot soup on her bare skin. He smirked slightly, enjoying the soup and copying her by dipping the sandwich in it. "This is very good. Thank you."

She beamed. "I should make it for you when we get back to the flat in London, a rainy day staple when I was a kid," she said, suddenly falling back into a memory...

He noticed the change in her face. "Your father?"

Every now and again, she'd get blindsided by the grief, even though he had passed on quite some time ago.

"He was very dear to you. Do you mind if I ask what happened?"

She swallowed hard. "Pancreatic cancer. He fought for a long time, but...in the end, it won," she said. He frowned. "I'm sorry you had to deal with that. How old were you?"

"I was...nineteen or twenty," she said, thinking back.

_Almost ten years ago._ "I truly am sorry."

She gave him a soft smile. "You don't need to apologize; he led a good life. And while I miss him, I know that he's not in pain any more." She was quiet for a bit, then she laughed. "He would have loved to have met you," she said. Her dad had been a chemistry professor and she knew that he and Sherlock would have the time of their lives doing all sorts of experiments.

"So why pathology for his daughter?"

"Because I like figuring out how things work, solving puzzles. And, I don't really deal well with people...no bedside manner," she said, chuckling slightly. "I saw an autopsy done once, and I knew that that was what I wanted to do. To find out how they died, to...bring them peace, if that makes any sort of sense," she said, musing on the words.

"In a way you couldn't for your father?"

What he said hit her like a bucket of cold water. "Oh my god..._yes_. Exactly that," she said softly. She had never thought of it that way before; she hated sitting idly by, watching her father slowly decline but remain cheerful. She had felt so powerless, so useless. She couldn't do anything for him. When he died, she had stayed silent for three days before she went and broke nearly every mirror in her flat and cut her hair to just underneath her ears: her way of coping, getting rid of the grief and anger that filled her like a poison.

He reached out to wipe away the tears. "I'm sorry you're so filled with pain, Molly. I know it isn't easy."

She started as he wiped the tears from her face; she didn't even know that she was crying. "Pain can be a good thing; it lets you know that you're alive, and it makes the rest of life that much sweeter," she said.

"Unless it consumes you," he murmured, carefully scooting around to cradle her against him without dumping any of their lunch. She choked out a bitter laugh. "Yeah," she said, snuggling into him. "But that's why you have other people to help you, to pick you up and bandage you when the pain gets bad. A...a sort of distraction, as it were," she said.

He kissed her temple and she had to laugh as he started to feed her the rest of her sandwich. She did the same, both of them eating from each other's fingertips, sharing the intimacy of the moment, completely focused on each other.

He joined in, kissing and licking the last of the cheese from her fingers, drinking in her smile and letting himself be truly content. She giggled as his tongue tickled her fingers to get the last of the sandwich from her. She just looked at him; she thought, perhaps, that this was the happiest that she had ever seen Sherlock.

He studied her eyes, taking in every nuance and detail. "I could lose myself in you," he murmured, mostly to himself. She blushed brightly as she caught what he said. "I've thought the same about you for years," she admitted, the corner of her lips quirking up into a smile.

"I know."

She playfully rolled her eyes. "Yes, yes, I know you know." A thought hit her; she must have been painfully obvious when they worked together before the Fall. "Oh...that must have been ten different types of awkward every time you came to the morgue," she said, biting her lower lip. Now it was his turn to look embarassed. "Well...no more awkward than my taking advantage of it to get what I wanted...I used you for years Molly. I'm-I'm sorry about that."

She gave him a smile. "And I accept your apology. At least you can do that easier now...watching you at the Christmas party was like watching someone pull teeth," she said, wincing as she recalled the disasterous party from almost four years ago now. The black dress, the gayly wrapped present, the cutting deductions in front of friends...then the apology and the kiss on the cheek. Aaaand then the awkwardly suggestive text tone.

He kissed her on the cheek once more, an echo. 'Thank you."

She leaned her forehead against his, sighing contently.

"What now, my Rose?"

She moved away from him to clear the dishes off the bed, brushing the crumbs from her robe. "We should probably give housekeeping a chance to clean up in here; how does a walk in the park we went to a few days ago sound?"

He chuckled. "Sounds like a plan." He rose slowly and dressed, not moving too fast, giving his muscles time enough to warm up. She went and pulled on some clothes as well, wincing as her sore muscles stretched. "Oof...I think we're both going to be sore for days," she muttered. However, that gave her an idea. "I just had a thought; when we get back from the walk, how does a backrub sound?" she said. She'd give him one, and hopefully he would return the favor.

"Oh God, yes," he murmured, buttoning up his shirt and pulling on his coat.

She grinned and pecked him on the cheek. "It's a deal, then," she said as they walked out the door. The park hadn't really changed much since the last time they were there; however, there was a new arrival. A pair of nesting swans now had a brood of cygnets. Molly cooed in delight as she saw the little gray balls of fluff following their parents around the pond.

Sherlock made sure they kept their distance, Molly admiring the birds from afar. He was studying them as a famliy, reflecting on his own desires of parenthood. She sighed happily as the avian family was soon out of sight, rounding a bend in the pond. "That's lovely. A pity that swans are so ill-tempered," she said as she laced her fingers with Sherlock's.

He glanced down at their hands, looking at how his stong fingers looked entwinted with her daintier hands. She watched him looking at their joined hands and squeezed his lightly, smiling. Everyone thought that he was so cold all the time, but she was pleased to know otherwise. He lifted their hands and kissed hers, watching her blush and smiling. "I never fail to bring a bit of color to your cheeks"

She chuckled. "You've had lots of practice," she murmured to him.

"Yet it never takes much."

She thought for a moment. "I guess I'm so used to you being...indifferent to me. Now that I know otherwise, it's still taking effect. And habits are hard to break," she said.

"Don't stop this one. It's-it's a nice reinforcement of my effect on you."

Well. That made her face turn crimson and she shyly ducked her head. Sherlock gently pulled her to him and kissed her there in the middle of the sidewalk. "Mark," he said. Molly enjoyed the kiss and that he was being so public about it, not something she'd ever expected from him, then looked at him, puzzled. "Mark who?" she asked.

"For a baby name."

She blinked, her eyebrows going up. "Hm. I always liked Matthew. Or Lucas," she said thoughtfully.

"Andrew."

"Daniel."

"Travis."

"Jason. Or Tobias."

"Joshua. Timothy."

"Hm...Daniel Andrew. Or Mark Timothy..." she said, trying the combinations of first and middle names.

"Timothy Carleton"

"Oh, that's a nice one!" she said. He grinned, pleased with himself.

"What about Benedict?"

"I could grow quite fond of that name, I think. It's unusual, rather like mine."

"Benedict Tobias? How does that sound?" she said, grinning right back.

"Benedict Tobias Holmes." Sherlock smiled.

"Anne."

"Anne?"

"Well, our baby might be a girl..."

Sherlock shook his head. "Christine."

She wrinkled her nose. "Margaret," she suggested.

"Nathalie"

"Caitlyn?"

His lip twitched. "Caitlyn Moriah?"

"Hm...interesting. Elizabeth? Or Rachael..."

"Grace? Allison? Ashley?"

"Louise?"

He wrinkled his nose. "Lara?"

"Amanda?"

"Mary?"

"No, we'd get her mixed up with John's wife," she mused. "What about Katherine?"

"Marie?"

"Gabrielle?"

"Ohhh, I rather like that one...Gabrielle Angela?"

Molly nodded. "Gabriell Angela. That sounds lovely," she said.

He smiled. "Well then, it's settled"

"So...Benedict Tobias if it's a boy, and Gabrielle Angela if it's a girl," she said, beaming.

They'd been walking again during the name contest, but Sherlock stopped again, placing his hand over her belly, stroking her gently. She shivered lightly against his touch. "Hm...you know, we should probably go get a pregnancy test when we get back to London," she said softly.

"Why? You haven't been off the pill for 24 hours yet."

"Well, not to use right away. Just to be prepared," she said, fidgeting with the hem of her coat. He smiled, nodding. "Very well then"

She beamed. She could hardly wait; a new life. _Their_ child.

They wandered back into town, Sherlock trying to restrict himself to window shopping and failing miserably. Molly laughed as she saw him looking into the windows that held baby things; cribs, mobiles, and, most of all, the little clothes. She nearly had to drag him away as he stared at the impossibly small shoes and socks, the little hats and gloves. She even saw him eyeing a coat that was a miniature version of his own.

He couldn't resist when he saw the coat. It was perfect, even right down to the red buttonhole. She made a noise of surprise as he took her hand and pulled her into the shop. Before she knew it, the little coat had been purchased and boxed up and then they were out of the store, Sherlock grinning ear to ear like the cat that had eaten the canary.

He was beaming; he knew he must look like an idiot. He purchased them both ice creams as they walked throught the town, the bag in their hands making him grin every time it bounced against his leg. She smiled and shook her head at him. "Whatever the gender of our child, you are going to spoil them rotten," she said, before moving quickly to catch an errant drip of ice cream with her tongue before it reached her hand.

He watched her tongue flick out and catch the drop, mulling over her words, ideas suddenly sparking to his mind. "Well, I already spoil you, why not our child as well?" They went in a few more shops and he managed to purchase another item when she was distracted with books, hiding it in his coat.

She sighed and shook her head. When they had finished their ice creams, they perused a few more shops. She lost track of time in a book store, looking up from one to see Sherlock coming back to her, smiling. She thought she saw a bulge hidden in his coat, but wisely didn't say anything about it. It began to grow dark, so they made their way back to the hotel.

He was relieved to see that housekeeping had remade the bed, tidying up the room. He ordered a lavish room service meal for them, switching on the telly and finding a cheesy romance film he knew she loved. He got the food when it arrived, returning to the bed to serve her dinner. Her eyebrows were in danger of disappearing into her hair when he got dinner and turned on the telly to "Sense and Sensibility", one of her favorite romantic films (she was always a sucker for Jane Austen. And Alan Rickman as Colonel Brandon? Too perfect). Again, she said nothing, thanking him and patting the space beside her on the bed as he brought her the food.

He served her, the steak done to perfection and pouring them each a glass of sparkling water, no more wine as long as they wanted a child. He let the film wash over him, watching her more than the telly as he ate. She daintily cut her meat, her moves precise, bringing each piece to her mouth and chewing almost absently as she watched the movie, getting lost in the story. Every so often she would laugh at one of the character's antics, or make a noise of frustration as they were being totally thick or missed something obvious. Finally, her meal done and her dishes set aside, she cuddled up next to Sherlock, enjoying his warmth.

He placed the tray on the floor, holding her close, the story really too vapid for his mind to handle, but Molly was enjoying herself and it was fascinatig enough to simply hold and watch her, her reactions so predictable yet so fascinating. When the credits began to roll, she reached for the remote and shut the telly off. "I do believe I owe you a back rub," she said, looking at him.

He smiled, unbuttoning his shirt and sliding onto his stomach. She removed his shirt and straddled his thighs as she worked her thumbs into the muscles of his shoulders and back, then moving to her knuckles as she went lower, adding gentle pressure with each movement. He purred as she worked the tension out of his muscles, relaxing and melting into the sheets

Molly kneaded and rubbed, stroked and soothed, working her way back up Sherlock's spine to the back of his neck, then his arms, wrists and hands, kissing each fingertip before she was done. Finally, she finished with his scalp, running her fingers through his dense black curls. He nuzzled his head up into her touch when she reached his scalp, purring for everything like a contented cat.

She had to stifle laughter; she often thought of him as a large jungle cat (especially the way he stalked about in that great black coat of his; it put her in mind of a panther), and this just reinforced the idea. She was highly tempted to scratch behind his ears to see what that would do. He was grinning, leaning up into her. "That's marvelous."

She gently raked her fingernails across his scalp before pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "Glad you liked it," she said, taking in his scent.

He let her move off him before stretching and turning to her. "I do believe that means I owe you one now."

"Mmm...yes please," she said, taking the space he once occupied, shrugging her shirt off as well before she lay on her stomach. He slid it the rest of the way off her arms before grabbing the first of two surprises. He poured something on his hands before slowly working out the knots in her back, the scent washing over them in a lovely floral bath. She stiffened in shock as she felt him work the oil into her skin, the scent of roses overwhelming. She laughed as she relaxed; he was more romantic than she thought. He worked on the kinks and knots, making her purr and sigh as they loosened, one by one. He spent extra time at the nape of her neck before trailing down and rubbing her lower back, fingers even brushing over her ribs, exploring, testing for any tickle spots as he went; he hadn't forgotten.

She flinched and stiffened as his fingertips grazed under her arms...she was ticklish there. Ticklish..._oh no_...

The fraction of a reaction was all he needed. Pinning her to the mattress, her stroked under her arms again, fingers tracing the skin, leaving slightly oily trails. She gasped out laughter trying to put her arms down, struggling against him to no avail; he had her trapped.

"I told you I'd get you back."

She writhed under him more, laughing breathlessly as he continued to tickle her mercilessly.

He finally stopped, sliding his hands up to lace their fingers together and press her arms out to her sides, kissing and sucking on the side of her neck. Her laughter changed to purrs as he kissed the side of her neck, their fingers twined. She tilted her head to the side to grant him greater access. He worked out the kinks in her neck with his lips and tongue, continuing the massage. Her purrs turned to breathless gasps as his massage continued, using his lips and tongue where his hands once were. The heat of his mouth was maddening and she melted into the bed, relaxing into the sheets.

"Is that good?" he murmured, kissing all the way up to her hear and down her shoulder.

"Very," she said, her eyes fluttering shut.

He continued for a few more moments before moving to the other side of her neck, working it out the same way. Her eyes rolled back into her head as he changed sides. She moaned low in her throat at his touch, feeling goosebumps rise on her skin. When he could feel her completely relaxed, he let her go, sitting back against the headboard.

Molly could barely move; she felt like a piece of limp string. She whined softly as his warmth withdrew before making a monumental effort to follow him. Sherlock gathered her into his arms, kissing her head and face, faint traces of roses on his lips. She smiled as he held her, they both smelled of roses now. She pressed herself to him, bare skin to bare skin, hers still a bit slick from the oil.

He started humming, voice sliding through all of the songs he'd heard on their travels, finally settling on a fairly popular one by OneRepubic, breaking into the words, "Angel of Mercy, how did you find me? How did you pick me up again? Angel of mercy how did you move me? Why am I on my feet again and I see you..." (1)

She felt her breath leave her as he sang, her heart thrumming in her chest. He finished the refrain, the only part he'd bothered learning.

She thought of a song and grinned as she sang it back to him in reply. "When I see your face; there's not a thing that I would change, 'cause you're amazing just the way you are. And when you smile, the whole world stops and stares for a while. Because you're amazing, just the way you are." (2)

He felt his eyes burn, still unable to truly understand why she thought him so gorgeous. "A falling star fell from your heart and landed in my eyes." (3)

She smiled and sang the end of her favorite Burns poem; "Not vernal show'rs to budding flow'rs, not autumn to the farmer, so dear can be as thou to me, my fair, my lovely charmer." (4)

He kissed her temple, rocking her gently. "Now there's no holding back, I'm making to attack, My blood is singing with your voice, I want to pour it out, The saints can't help me now, the ropes have been unbound, I hunt for you with bloody feet across the hallowed ground..." (5)

She shivered, remembering the night before: how they had been rough and wild with each other, how they hadn't held back, how they had been feral. He could see the memories spinning in her head through her eyes and face, remembering so much of what had happened and yet so little, everything still a bit blurry.

Molly nuzzled into his chest, feeling his heart beat, recalling scraping her teeth down his skin, biting at his pulse. She noted the set of teethmarks still in his shoulder and kissed them, feeling a little guilty for it. Sherlock carefully lifted her so that her lips were against the mark, pressing her head against it ever so gently. She pressed a kiss to the marks, wondering for a moment if he wanted her to bite him again.

He pulled her up the rest of the way to gently claim her mouth, sliding their lips together in a dance. She locked her mouth with his, sighing into the kiss, feeling warm and content. He threaded his fingers in her hair and tugged it gently as they kissed. She made a small noise of surprise as he gently tugged her hair, feeling her toes curl. She returned the favor, sliding her fingers into his thick mass of dark hair, pulling lightly.

He grinned, knowing she was ready and willing. Rolling her onto her back, he kissed her, grinding against her just enough to get hard. This time she gasped against his mouth as he ground against her. She felt him grow hard and she purred and arched up against him, wanting more of that friction.

He pulled away, getting up and rummaging for something. "Strip. Now."

She hastily did as she was told, wondering if they were going to have a repeat of last night. She was wondering if she were up to it; that thought immediately flew out of her head. _Hell yes she was_. He tugged off his trousers and pants while on the floor, coming back up with a bottle of rich, dark chocolate syrup.

Her eyes widened as she saw the bottle in his hand. This was going to be _fun_.

He straddled her once more, popping the top and busying himself drawing the design from her celtic pajamas (reminding him that he had a new pair of pajamas to give her!) on her stomach. She flinched a little at the coldness of the syrup, watching him as he worked and marveling at his eye for detail.

When he deemed it done, he put a few drops of the syup on his fingers and let them trace her mouth as he began to lick her clean. She felt breathless as his tongue began to trace the design, cleaning the chocolate off of her. The slow, wet, hot drag of it along her skin was maddening, and she fisted her hands in the sheets.

Sherlock slipped his coated fingers into her mouth, the syrup much richer than he'd expected against his tongue, sweeter and much heavier than he was used to. Molly trailed her tongue along his fingers, savoring the taste of chocolate and his skin; leave it to the Swiss to have high quality chocolate syrup. He finally licked off the edge of the design, feeling very full and relaxing back against the sheets, saited, watching her with hooded eyes.

Every inch of her felt like it was on fire. She sat up and took the syrup. "Your turn," she said, popping the cap to it. She regarded her canvas for a moment before drawing an elaborate swirl and curlicue pattern on his abdomen. She bent her head and began the slow trace of her tongue along his skin to clean him, watching his face through her eyelashes.

He wasn't expecting this, the suryp chill at first but then followed by her hot tongue, licking him clean, and her eyes: God, she looked so coy and teasing watching him. She finished cleaning him, finally, leaving some syrup on her tongue as she kissed him, her chest pressed to his.

They were sticky as their bodies pressed together, and Sherlock could taste the chocolate on his wife's tongue, inviting her in, pulling her deeper. She purred into his mouth, her tongue dancing with his as he deepened the kiss. Breaking the kiss to breathe, Molly noticed that she still had syrup on her fingers. One by one, she put them into her mouth to clean them, forgetting momentarily about her husband watching her.

He started to drool. Sherlock Holmes started to drool as he watched Molly sucking her fingers, imagining the she was doing the same to him. Her eyebrows went up, and she released the finger that was in her mouth before smiling. "See something you like?" she asked teasingly.

He groaned, nodding. She picked up one of his hands and took his index finger into her mouth, wrapping her lips and tongue around it, suckling gently. He moaned, neck arching as he grew impossibly harder, Molly teasing and taunting in ways he never thought possible. She slowly slid his finger out of her mouth, abandoning it to place her mouth in the hollow of his throat.

"More, oh God _more_," he gasped.

She smiled into his skin before trailing downwards, to his collarbone, his sternum, taking one of his nipples into her mouth and catching it gently between her teeth. He growled, pressing his chest closer, want for her rising faster than he could manage to process. Molly moved across the plane of his chest to repeat the process with the other nipple. Then she slid down his abdomen, her tongue dipping into the cup of his navel, then trailing her lips down the line of dark hair before letting her breath fan over his erect cock.

Sherlock bucked his hips up involuntarily. "Molly..."

Her lips curled into a smirk as he bucked. She kissed the tip of him before taking it into her mouth, sucking gently, then adding more force. He moaned, twisting in the sheets, almost crying out for more, begging her...His eyes snapped open, taking in her triumphant gaze. She'd made him beg. Again

He begged for her, and she hadn't even _asked_ him to. She watched as his eyes snapped open...there was a feral light in them that made her heart speed up and her pupils dilate.

He pulled her off him, slamming her down against the sheets and entering her without warning, pounding into her, taking her and claiming her for his own, growling in the back of his throat. She was suddenly off of him and on her back. He was over her and then in her and she arched her back, crying out as he entered her without warning. He was growling in the back of his throat, taking her, _claiming_ her, making her his. She cried out his name as he thrust into her over and over and over, rough and wild.

"Beg..." he growled, "Beg for me to let you come"

"Ah...! Please...please..._please_..." she gasped.

"Oh really?" he panted, "Please, _what_?"

"Please...let me come..._please_." she panted back, feeling increasingly desperate.

"Still not the right answer," he slowed down, almost pulling out. She whined in frustration as he slowed, then whimpered as he almost pulled out of her. "Please let me come..._master,_" she said, remembering last night.

"Good girl," and he was going harder and faster than before, almost impossibly so until they both were screaming each other's names. He sped up and went harder, sending her hurtling towards the edge then over, screaming his name as she climaxed, her vision going white and her blood roaring in her ears.

He collapsed on her, breathing hard and grinning triumphantly, giggling from the rush of the high that followed. Molly would have giggled with him, but she was still recovering from her orgasm; he felt pleasantly drugged.

"That-that was-ahhhahaha," he gasped, giggling and panting as he tried to regain his breath. She nodded in agreement, her tongue still not quite connected with her brain or vice-versa. Sherlock kissed her cheek, looking at their mess. "We really should-put towels down-next time," he said before laughing again. She turned her head, looking at the mess of chocolate and ejaculate and sweat that covered the sheets. Finally, she laughed too, joining him in his bliss.

"The cleaning staff must think we're animals."

She chuckled. "We're newlyweds; this is expected," she said as she regained her powers of speech.

He shook his head, the term still foreign. _Newlyweds_.

She nodded. "As much as I still can hardly believe it myself, yes, we're newlyweds. We were married three days ago on September twenty-third, in front of several witnesses. We have rings and everything," she said, holding up her left hand and wiggling her fingers to show off her wedding band and engagement ring. He snorted, chuckling at her blatant statement of the obvious. "I know that," he said, but he didn't say it in a cruel way.

She smiled up at him. "I know you know. I'm just making it more _real_," she said.

"It is real. I'm here with you."

She clutched him tightly to her. "Good," she murmured.

"Another sticky sleep."

She jostled him lightly "Not this time; we need to shower or it'll _hurt_ unpeeling from each other tomorrow morning," she said.

He grinned, heading for the shower to rinse off. She followed him, joining him in the shower. "Budge over, please," she said, getting under the warm spray of water.

"And what if I don't want to?

"Then you'll have an unhappily sticky wife," she said.

He grinned at her and moved, handing her the soap. She lathered up and, instead of washing herself, began washing him, cleaning all residue of chocolate and sex from his skin. He grinned, kissing her forehead before rinsing them both off. She washed herself off quickly before he rinsed them both, smiling happily as he kissed her forehead. They got out and dried off, Sherlock heading for his suitcase. "Close your eyes!"

She looked at him, confused, but did so, waiting on the carpet, still dripping slightly from the shower.

"You can finish drying off," he said getting what he was looking for and hiding it behind his back. She did so, quickly, before looking at him again.

Sherlock pulled out a set of purple pajamas made from the same fabric as her favorite of his shirts, this one with pressed designs of the stars. He had matching pajama bottoms for himself Molly's eyes widened and her jaw dropped. "Oh _Sherlock_," she breathed, taking the fabric from him and running her hands reverantly down it. "It's beautiful!"

"I thought you'd like it."

She put on the pajamas, shivering delightedly as she felt the fabric brush against her skin. He tugged on his bottoms before removing the sticky sheets and snuggling with her under the duvet, turning on the telly and finding another film she'd been dying to show him. She perused the movie selection, before her eyes lighted on one of her absolute favorites. "Oh, we _HAVE_ to watch this," she said, grinning as she pressed play. Haunting string music began, then words. "The world has changed. I feel it in the water, I feel it in the earth, I smell it in the air. Much that once was is now lost...for none now live who remember it..." (6)

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Tolkien?"

She nodded. "I think you'll like it," she said. He rolled his eyes, cuddling her close; he did not fall asleep once during the entire film.

She drifted in and out of sleep during the movie; she had forgotten just how long it was. She woke up with a start during the mines of Moria, watching Gandalf fall into the chasm and the Fellowship's journey to Lothlorien, drifting off at around the Mirror of Galadriel. She woke again to hear the horn of Gondor calling, to no avail. She sniffled as Aragorn said his goodbyes and swore his oaths to the dying Boromir and drifted off once more during the credits. Sherlock was surprised to find a few tears trickling out of his eyes as the credits rolled, unable to blink them away fast enough.

She felt a droplet of water hit her face and she woke up again. "Are you okay?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said, voice lower than he'd thought. She leaned up and brushed his tears away. "You're crying...I'm sorry, should I have picked a different movie?" she asked, fretting a little.

"No. I-it affected me more than I'd thought. That's all."

She held him close...she could see the parallels between Boromir and Aragorn's relationship with him and John.

"Sleep," he murmured, not tired in the slightest. "I know you're worn out."

She nodded and closed her eyes, dead to the world within seconds, her head resting against his chest.

_1- Mercy- OneRepublic_

_2- Just the way you are -Bruno mars_

_3- Cosmic love- Florence + The Machine_

_4- Now Westin Winds- Robert Burns_

_5- Howl- Florence + The Machine_

_6- The opening lines to "The Lord of the Rings" (2001)_

_**Yeah, we're big saps, but as soon as we realized just what fans we both are of LOTR, we just had to. I'm aware my Sherlock is a bit OOC, but it works. And it's fanfiction, so we do what we want. The baby name conversation was loads of fun, and we hope you enjoyed it to. The honeymoon is soon drawing to a close, and then back to London...with a few more surprises in store. Stay tuned!**_


	13. Chapter 11

_**A/N: Before you even ask, both of us are HUGE Ringers and Disnerds and all of the things, so, forgive us if we take liberties or if there are references everywhere. And for us, it makes sense that Sherlock knows Disney now since Molly loves it. He would have paid attention and store information away for later, for the perfect time to use it. At least, that's our justification. We are simply having fun. Enjoy the last day of the honeymoon!**_

Chapter 11: Elvish, Disney, and Roses

He listened to her breathing slow, mulling over the film. The parallels to his own life had been blatantly obvious, but they hadn't ceased to hurt. He did shed a few more tears before nodding off, dreaming of John saving the halflings, himself too late to save the man.

Molly woke again to feel him shaking. She faced him; he was sobbing in his sleep. She felt her heart wrench and twist; she stroked his hair and wiped his face free of tears. "Shhh...sleep safe, I'm here. You're all right," she whispered to him.

_He was kneeling over John, the man's chest pierced with arrows. "I would have followed you, my brother...my captain...my king." the doctor said before passing,_ _Sherlock closing his eyes and sobbing...until a gentle, elven voice brought him back to reality, waking him up..._

Feeling more than slightly silly but giving it a try anyway, she whispered in his ear; "Lasto beth nin, tolo dan ngalad..."

His eyes snapped open, realizing that Molly was speaking Elvish to him. She flushed as his eyes snapped open; she wasn't expecting him to hear her. "You were crying in your sleep," she murmured, stroking her hands through his hair.

"John was Boromir," he explained, wiping the tears from his face. She clutched him tighter to her. "Oh my dearest love..." she said, swallowing hard, feeling tears prick her own eyes. He swallowed more tears as the dream began to vanish. "I'm fine. Really."

She kissed his forehead to banish any lingering threads of the dream, continuing stroking his hair.

"Let's order in. I'm hungry and then I want to go out. Spend the day in the town." _Shower you with gifts_, he thought. "Get whatever you like."

She nodded, then got up out of bed, ordering them French toast and coffee. She got the food when it came to the room, placing it on the small table near the window. "I think our sheets have seen enough abuse for now," she said, her lips curling into a smile. He smiled, joining her at the window seat, watching the town wake as they ate. She chuckled to herself as a song came to her head. _Too much Disney_...

"What's so funny?"

She laughed out loud now. "Little town, it's a quiet village, every day like the one before. Little town, full of little people, waking up to say..." she sang, as she watched the dawn break over the small Swiss town they were in. (1)

The detective's lips twitched. "She glanced this way I thought I saw, and when we touched she didn't shudder at my paw. Though it can't be, I'll just ignore, but then she's never looked at me that way before." (2)

Molly grinned back at him. "New and a bit alarming; who'd have ever thought that this could be. True, that he's no Prince Charming...but there's something in him that I simply did not see," she returned.

He positively beamed at her. "Beauty and the beast..." (3)

She nods. "Has to be my favorite Disney movie," she said, grinning even broader.

"You know, something clued me into that, my _Rose_."

She stuck her tongue out at him cheekily. Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Don't make me come over there."

Molly snickered and took a sip of her coffee, not wanting to tempt him.

They soon dressed and left the room, exploring the neighborhoods today, watching children playing for a good deal of the time. She felt her heart glow as she watched a playground with him, the children racing around, laughing, yelling. She took his hand in hers and squeezed gently, thinking on the days when they would bring their child to a playground. Sherlock took her to lunch soon after, discussing different theories on childrearing and such before hitting the shops again, Sherlock spending an hour in the bookstore at one point. The detective was looking over almost every copy of "What to -insert word here- When You're Expecting" book that he could get his hands on, making Molly snicker.

He walked past the baby shops again, groaning when she pointed out a deerstalker for a child. This time, she insisted they get it "so he or she can look like Daddy" much to his chagrin. Molly just about died laughing as he grumbled about her getting the infant-sized deerstalker hat for their child-to-be. She positively howled when she caught him saying "Why would my child want to wear an _ear_ _hat_?" He still got it for her, insisting on taking her to the jewelry store afterwards. "One thing, anything."

She perused the jewelry store, nothing really catching her eye until she found a matching silver locket set. She picked it up and went over to the counter and had a quick, quiet talk to the man behind the counter who took the lockets away. "We have to come pick them back up in about an hour," she said to Sherlock. He nodded, sweeping her to the food shops to load up on sweets for Mycroft and a few things for them of course.

She giggled as he plotted to sabotage Mycroft's diet with decadent chocolates and sweets (with some things for them as well) before the clock in the square struck the hour. "Time to go get our things from the jeweler!" she said, nearly dragging him there; she couldn't wait to see his reaction. He followed her, laughing at her exuberance, but when she handed him the locket he couldn't focus on anything else. On the inside of it, she had the words engraved; "_Doubt that the stars are fire/Doubt that the sun doth move/Doubt truth to be a liar/But never doubt my love_." (4)

He kissed her right there in the store, almost indecently, causing people to stop and stare, to whisper and smile. "Thank you," he whispered, paying for them.

"You're welcome," she replied, breathless.

It was back to the hotel and they spent the better part of half an hour going through everything they'd purchased, sorting what belong to whom and packing some of the things away before Sherlock ordered dinner. Molly was barely able to close her suitcase as they packed everything, managing to get it zipped shut after some struggling. Dinner arrived, and they ate at the window again, watching the sky darken and the lights wink on in the town below.

"It's gone by so fast."

She hummed in agreement and nodded. "It's been wonderful, but I can't wait to get home," she said.

"Why?"

"Because I miss our space, our own bed. I miss making coffee. I even miss the cats that fight over the bins outside," she said. He smirked at that, greedily devouring his chicken and broccoli alfredo. "You know...we never did collect our wedding gifts from the others...I'm sure there are things waiting for us."

"I totally forgot!" she said, her eyes widening. "Oh dear...I hope there was nothing perishable...or living," she said, wincing.

He laughed. "I very highly doubt that. They all knew we were going from the ceremony here."

She nodded. "True." That relieved her and she continued eating her dinner. After they ate, Sherlock excused himself on an errand (a final surprise for his love) "I'll be back soon. Feel free to sleep if you need to." And we was gone.

She nodded. She watched as he left, closing the door behind him. She read for a bit, before stripping out of her clothes and snuggling, nude, between the sheets and falling asleep, waiting for him to get back.

oOoOo

It took him longer than he'd thought to find it, the shops having started to close but he managed it. Case in hand, he ran back to the hotel only to reach the door and not have his key...because of course, it was in the pocket of the shirt he'd changed out of when they'd returned. He knocked on the door. "Molly? Please let me in."

Molly started from her rest at the knock on the door, hearing Sherlock on the other side. She blearily fumbled for something to wear, grabbing one of his shirts (a deep forest green) and rapidly buttoning it before getting the door. She opened it. "You forgot you key," she said, raising an eyebrow and smiling a little, moving out of his way to let him through with the parcel he carried.

"Yes, yes," he said, stopping as he turned and saw her in one of his shirts, his lip curling. "Hmmmmm..."

The fabric of his shirt fell almost to her knees, the cuffs dangling at her fingertips, the top two buttons undone, showing the skin of her chest. She had taken down her hair, still wavy from the plait it had been in, tumbling over her shoulders to fall down her back. He dropped his coat and scarf, setting down his parcel before lifting her up against the wall and locking her in a fiery kiss. She made a small noise in the back of her throat, her breath leaving her as he forced her against the wall in a claiming kiss that sizzled along her nerves and made sparks dance behind her eyes.

He dropped his trousers and pants after fumbling with them for a moment so that he could claim her, thrusting her against the wall. She keened as he entered her with one movement, gripping the lapels of his coat as he thrust within her. She let the back of her head hit the wall with a thump as he went deeper, the new angle allowing it.

He drove into her, both of them coming within moments, cradling her against his chest as he kissed her again. She gasped his name as she came, feeling him release inside of her before he cradled her against him and kissed her. When they finally broke for air, she was panting hard. "So...I guess...that means I...should wear a shirt...of yours...more often...?" she managed to say between breaths.

"You do and I don't think I'll ever manage to leave our flat."

She laughed breathlessly. "Fine. Every once in a while then," she said. He grinned, setting her down gently and stripping before heading into the bathroom to clean off. She followed him, unbuttoning his shirt all the way and letting it hang open on her, the dark green cloth framing her breasts and her sex perfectly. She looked around the bathroom as he got the water running, watching him.

Sherlock rinsed off, not needing much more than that before drying off and searching for his purple pajama bottoms. She wet a cloth and cleaned his release off of her and out of her, wondering if she had a child inside her yet.

He found what he was looking for, dressing before going for the parcel and calling her over to their bed. Molly threw his shirt on again as she walked out to him, not bothering to button it up. He grinned when he saw it, tugging her close and handing her the box.

She gasped as she opened it, her eyes going wide. Nestled inside was a rose pendant in full bloom, the piece inlaid with tiny gems that she knew would make it sparkle and shine in any light. "Oh my God..._Sherlock_," she said, breathless, working quickly to put it on. However, her fingers were trembling too much for her to work the small clasp. He took it from her, fixing it around her neck. "A rose for my Rose."

She grabbed him by his shirt and pulled him in for a deep kiss, her thank you. "A kiss for my dearest love," she murmured against his lips. He smiled, never tired of this, the embrace, the brush of lips, the whispered exchanges. He pulled the covers up and let her curl against him, murmuring the Elvish she'd taught him in her ear. "Lasto beth nin, tolo dan ngalad..."

She smiled and shuddered pleasantly. "Hear my voice, come back to the light," she whispered back, translating. (5)

"And if I wake before you, I'll wake you with those words every morning of our lives."

She held him close, tightly, swallowing hard against the prick of tears in her eyes. He kissed the top of her head as she fell asleep to his heartbeat.

_(1)- Belle_

_(2)- Something There_

_(3)- Beauty and the Beast_

_(4)- Shakespeare. Who else?_

_(5)- Spoken several times in this chapter, these are the words Arwen speaks to Frodo in the Fellowship when he's dying of the Morgul blade wound._

_**They return home tomorrow. Wonder what their gifts are...**_


	14. Chapter 12

_**A/N: After this, life will start to move along for Sherlock and Molly. We both sincerely hope you enjoy all of the little surprises and treats we have in store for you, both here and in upcoming chapters.**_

Chapter 12: Coming Home

Molly woke up and stretched, looking at the gray light of the morning that filtered in through the window. She saw Sherlock still sleeping, his face peaceful. As much as she wanted to let him sleep for a few more minutes, they had to check out and catch the jet back to London. She bent and whispered their words into his ear to wake him. He mumbled and stretched, drawn back to the world of wakefulness. "Mmmmmm...morning," he murmured.

She smiled. "Morning sweetheart," she said, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "Ready to head back home?"

The detective grumbled a little but nodded, not wanting to leave their precious little bubble. She rose and dressed, packing away her sleepwear (she was still in Sherlock's shirt). She ran a brush through her hair, getting all the tangles out. She sighed as she looked around the hotel room; their week had been idyllic, but now it was time to head back to reality, to their friends and family, to their jobs. To their future. Molly smiled, the future...one with a child. Her smile turned into a grin.

Trousers, socks, shoes, green shirt...Sherlock's lips twitched as he watched her keep his green shirt on. "Don't know if I'll let you out of the room wearing that. Things could get rather...indecent."

She smirked as she slid it slowly off her shoulders, letting it hang around her lower back, her arms still in the sleeves. "Like I'd wear this for anyone else," she said. He growled softly before tugging it off her and stuffing it in his suitcase, heading to the bathroom to collect their soaps and things. "We can eat here if you'd like or I'm sure Mycroft has food on the jet for us."

She checked the time; it was nearly ten and they had to check out by ten forty-five. That was time enough for one last meal in the room. "One more meal here, and we can leave Mycroft's...'gifts' on the jet for him," she said, breaking into a cheeky grin.

He brought their things back in the room, meeting her grin with one of his and ordering for them: eggs bacon, fresh juice, coffee...all ordered rush. There was a knock on the door five minutes later. "Make sure we leave a large tip with this one," Sherlock said as they ate in the window. She nodded. "Good service," she said as she munched on a piece of bacon, looking out the window as the town below started to bustle with the everyday lives of the people that dwelt there.

"What are you thinking about?" As much as he could deduce from her expressions, there were always a few details he couldn't quite place, just another surprise from getting close to her.

"Hm? Oh...just the people down there; it's a little habit of mine, wondering what their stories are, where they work, if they have someone, what they do. It's a bit childish, I know, but I like it," she said, chuckling softly.

"It's human," he said simply. She nodded. "You don't even have to wonder; you just take one look and there it is. Their entire lives, laid out for you like a book to read," she said, somewhat in awe. She was always impressed by the deductions he made, knowing that they were almost always completely accurate.

"It makes for a very dull life. It's so hard to stay interested. I can look at you and tell how well you slept, what you want to go when we return home, how much you want to be on that jet, and even what types of sexual exploits you want to try, just from a single deduction, but, somehow, there are certain, small details I can't see about you. I don't think it's because you're a woman although I had a similar issue with _The Woman_ several years ago, but there is something mysterious and fascinating about you, Molly Holmes that captivates me, and that is certainly a feat for the books."

She flushed; that was a high compliment indeed, coming from him.

Sherlock finished his breakfast in silence, watching the town and watching her before rising and moving their cases to the door. She watched him as he moved. "My turn to ask what you're thinking," she said as he stood by the window, looking out like she had.

"About how my life has changed, how it is still changing." He turned to look at her. "I'm only in my thirties and I have a past that would make most men quake in fear. I have demons that would kill ordinary men, and somehow I have the love of an amazing woman, I don't see how someone like me could deserve it."

She got up and walked over to him, wrapping her arms around him. "Your life is what you make of it. I'm not saying that you deserved all the bad things that happened to you, but...because of all that, because of what you have seen and what you have done; all of that just makes me love you more. I know that you are a good man, one of the best men I've ever known, and you try so hard. For me, for your friends, for the people you care about."

He knew his face looked sad but he smiled anyway. "Thank you."

She held him closer, wanting to banish the sadness that was on his face and in his eyes. Smiling suddenly, she recalled the words that he had sung to her in her kitchen at her flat, when they were still figuring things out. "I love you, I love you, I love you..."

Sherlock felt his heart burn and ache and he hugged her close, careful not to crush the air from her lungs. He kissed Molly's forehead with a whispered thanks before letting her go. "We have a plane to catch."

She nodded, going to the door to retrieve her suitcase as they left the room. She did leave a substantial tip on the breakfast tray, taking one last look at the small room that had been their paradise for a week before following her husband home.

oOoOo

The plane ride was smooth, and she and Sherlock took an almost childish glee in hiding all the goodies for Mycroft around the plane, in cabinets and compartments, in the storage spaces, even in the (clean!) ashtrays. Sherlock followed her lead in hiding all the sweets, savoring his mental image of Mycroft's face when he would realize that the diet was ruined yet again.

Finally, the plane touched down in London. They retrieved their things and got into the cab. However, Molly started to panic a little when they passed the street her flat was on and continued further on into the city. "Ah...we missed the turn," she said to the driver. "I know, Miss...instructions were to take you and your husband home," the cabbie replied. She looked at Sherlock, worried. "But...you _missed_ the _turn_ for our home," she said. "Naw, I didn't! Have specific directions right here," the cabbie said, showing her the printout map but not letting her take it.

Sherlock snatched the paper from the driver and glanced at it before handing it back. "Mycroft," he muttered, his expression darkening. She looked at Sherlock again. Then understanding hit her. "No...oh _no_...he...he didn't. Oh my God, he did. He bought us a _house_..." she said faintly.

Sherlock nodded, staring out of the window. "I think we know what his gift for us is, and chances are we are being waited for by a receiving committee of our friends."

She chuckled, a nervous sound. "I...holy hell, I have no idea what to think," she said, an odd look on her face.

The car pulled up next to a...well, a rather alarmingly large house. Sherlock could see the curtains twitch and knew John had just gone to tell the rest that they were back. Molly's eyes widened and her jaw as she stepped from the cab. "Oh my god..." she murmured as the cab pulled to a stop and they got out. She walked to the front doors and tested the knob; it was open. The doors moved inwards quietly, the silence suddenly broken by a loud "SURPRIIIIIISE!" Molly let out a small shriek and stumbled backwards a bit; all of their friends were there. Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, John and Mary, even Mycroft, all under a huge banner that read "WELCOME HOME, SHERLOCK AND MOLLY."

Sherlock shook his head. "Is this really necessary, Mycroft?"

The older man smirked, very smug. "Well, I do worry about you constantly. So I figured that this was the least I could do. Now I know you have a safe place to live," he said.

"To be spied on frequently-"

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "No, Sherlock. The house isn't bugged," he said with an air of long suffering. Molly was still quiet, looking around with her eyes huge. Finally, as if in a trance, she walked over and enveloped a very surprised Mycroft in a hug. "Thank you...thank you _so_ much," she whispered. Sherlock grinned at the look of utter surprise on his brother's face but only had a second to enjoy it before John almost tackled him with a hug of his own.

John beamed as he heard Sherlock's breath leave him in a huff as he gave him a bear hug. "Welcome home, mate! Being married suits you...you're practically glowing!" he said. Showing a small leer and casting a look at Molly, he lowered his voice so only Sherlock could hear him. "And getting laid on constant basis doesn't hurt either," he said, waggling his eyebrows. Sherlock glared at him but hugged back. "Not a word on my sexual exploits, Thee Continents Watson," he hissed back.

John frowned and punched the tall detective gently in the ribs. "Oi, none of that..." he muttered. "Besides, it's only fair that I get to tease you about this after all that you said about my girlfriends. And Mary," he said, smiling to show that he meant no harm by the statement. Sherlock swallowed the bubble of shame and nudged him back. "Since all of you are here, is it safe to conclude you all are waiting impatiently to shower us with gifts before leaving us in blessed peace?" He smirked at his friend.

There was a collective groan and eye roll from the gathered group. "Way to kill the mood," Lestrade said. Mycroft was still trying to extricate himself from Molly, and she was taking no small amount of glee in making him so discomfited. "Well, that's Sherlock...about as subtle as ten tons of concrete," Mrs. Hudson said good-naturedly. "Gifts are on the table, love; go open them!" she urged excitedly. Sherlock grabbed Molly's hand and tugged her away from his brother. "You know my deductions are always right and they fascinate you," he said, grinning as he gestured to the stack of gifts. "Go ahead."

She smiled and went to the small tower of gifts on the table, unwrapping each one with glee. There was a monogrammed towel set from Mrs. Hudson, a set of dishes and silverware from John and Mary, and lovely bookshelf from Lestrade. "Er...I had no idea what to get either of you. Giving gifts really isn't my division," the Detective Inspector said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. Molly smiled and gave him a hug. "Greg, it's wonderful, and it'll come in handy. Thank you. Thank you all," she said, going and embracing all of their friends. The party soon left, all except for Mycroft. He stood in the doorway, looking at them both, a small smile hovering around his face, his eyes shining brightly before he cleared his throat and turned away. "I...have one last set of gifts for the both of you. The first is in the basement; you should check there to begin with. The second is upstairs. I shall leave you to your wedded bliss," he said, making a small moue of distaste at the words 'wedded bliss'. Molly grinned at him before giving him a small kiss on the cheek. "Thank you again, for everything...brother dear," she said mischievously.

Sherlock couldn't choke back his laughter at Mycroft's expression, taking Molly's hand and leading her downstairs. "Do show yourself out!" he called back up to Mycroft as they made their way into a very large, white...laboratory. "Oh, he's outdone himself this time."

Molly's jaw dropped. "Oh my _God_." she gasped. She rounded the corner and staggered back; there was a fully functioning morgue and pathological lab next to Sherlock's lab. "Sherlock...I don't think there's any way we can ever thank your brother properly," she said faintly, holding on to the wall for support. Sherlock swept her off her feet so she wouldn't fall, carrying her around the room to look at everything. "If this weren't such a considerate thing I'd return it all; it's too much, but it means that we could work from home with the baby..."

Molly giggled as he scooped her up and walked her around the room to see every detail of the fully-furnished labs. "He said something about upstairs, too...let's go explore, shall we? But...ah...could you put me down?" she asked, sheepishly. He chuckled and set her down before they went upstairs...several guest rooms, a library, a study, their room. Sherlock went in their room and noticed an extra door, realizing what it was for, Molly's face clearly telling him she didn't. With a smile and a flourish, he opened it, letting her in first

Her face kept its awestruck look as they explored; two guest rooms, a library and a study (attached to their room by different doors), magnificent bathrooms, a gorgeous kitchen, even a greenhouse outside that she figured they would explore tomorrow during the day. Sherlock noted a door in the wall of their room, one that wasn't where the study or library was located. He grinned and with a flourish, opened it. Molly's eyes filled with tears. The room was painted a soft, pastel yellow with animals frolicking around on the walls, painted trees spreading their branches across the ceiling, alphabet blocks stacked on the floor. A rocking chair was placed by a large window, a changing table was against the wall, and a crib was in the corner. A nursery. A room for their baby. "Mycroft really thought of everything," she said softly. And then she fainted.

Sherlock caught her, checking her heart and breathing to make sure she was all right before carrying her back to their room, laying her gently on their bed. Molly woke blearily about five minutes later, panicking briefly when she saw the unfamiliar surroundings. She quickly got a hold of herself as her memory came back. Their new house; their new room. And the nursery...she beamed. Sherlock was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking out the window. "Thank you for catching me," she said, watching as he started before turning to look at her.

"I'll always catch you Molly. I promised."

She moved over to wrap her arms around him. "And you know I'll do the same," she murmured, pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder. Sherlock nodded, letting her hold him as he sat silent. She rested against him, listening to their soft breathing, feeling his warmth. She ran her hand through his hair, a comforting gesture, feeling his curls wind around her fingers. He smiled slightly, leaning unconsciously into her touch, making soft noises of assent and enjoyment, little half-moans in the back of his throat. She kept running her hand through his hair, adding a little tug each time she reached the back of his head. He knew what she wanted, not difficult to deduce, but he didn't want to initiate anything. He had yet to see just how far she would go to get what she wanted from him.

She felt a little flustered as he just sat there, a small smirk on his lips (she didn't know if he was conscious of that or not...). He wanted her to take control? Fine, she would. She gave his hair a nice, firm tug and bent her head to kiss his jaw line and throat, nipping gently at his pulse. He felt his lip curl slightly, purring softly.

Her free hand went to the buttons of his shirt, deftly undoing them, exposing his alabaster skin. She ran her hand lightly down, from the hollow of his throat to the waistband of his trousers, tracing soft, intricate patterns with her fingertips. He hummed a little louder, fingers twitching as he fought to keep still. She was testing his patience... good. Molly removed her hand from his hair and let it join the other one, gently sliding his shirt off his shoulders and down his arms before she tossed it into a corner. She leaned in closer, leaving butterfly-soft kisses down his shoulders and across his back, barely touching him, driving him mad. Her husband growled low, his chest vibrating. "Tease."

Molly chuckled, acknowledging him. Her tongue flicked out, lightly tasting his skin, still barely touching him. Her breath puffed out warmly against him as she removed her hands, working with her own shirt and bra and casting them aside. Sherlock was starting to tremble with the effort of keeping still, struggling to ignore her and failing miserably, his mind racing through a thousand scenarios that could unfold.

Molly wondered just how far she'd have to go to get his control to snap. Testing these limits was going to be _fun_. She ran her tongue around the whorl of his ear before taking his earlobe in her teeth and tugging lightly. He groaned, moving toward her touch before freezing, cursing, and forcing himself back into sitting up straight.

She raised an eyebrow. Time to put her hands to work once more. She cupped his chest, her hands flat against him before sliding them down and working with the button and zip of his trousers. She opened them and reached inside, barely brushing his arousal before she withdrew once more. He growled louder, feeling his pupils dilate and his pulse speed up. "Do something already," he said, hands clenching.

She smirked. "But I _am_ doing something," she said teasingly. "Do you want me to stop...?"

He grabbed her wrists, finally losing his control and kissing her with bruising force. "Yes, but not _enough_."

She chuckled into the kiss, before the chuckle turned into a moan low in her throat. She swung around and straddled him, twisting her hands out of his grip only to take his hands again and place them on her breasts. She needed him to touch her now, almost as badly as he needed her to touch him. He kneaded and stroked, finally leaning forward to kiss the skin of her breasts, trailing his tongue over the flesh. Her breath caught in her throat as he touched her, before it escaped in a gasp as his tongue met her skin. She rocked against him, panting.

Sherlock grinned, teasing her the way she had him. His hands slid down to her hips, helping her rock and grind as he breathed on her skin, pulling his tongue back so that just the tip was touching her. She whimpered as he pulled away. He was teasing _her_ now. She would have said 'not fair', but she wasn't going to lie, she expected this. Sherlock believed in giving as good as he got and then some.

He grew fully hard in his trousers, shifting to slide them off before moving fast, pinning her to the bed and hovering over her, grinning down like that cat that swallowed the canary. She smiled back up at him, her pupils dilated, arching up against his arousal. "I seem to be wearing far too much still," she murmured.

He made short work of her jeans and knickers. "Better?"

"Much," she said, rubbing her legs together to alleviate some of the ache. She was so aroused that it almost hurt. He leaned forward and kissed her, sliding his tongue into her mouth as he entered her, moaning softly as though he would never grow completely accustomed to the sensation. She purred as he stretched her, entering her, filling her. His tongue danced with hers and he moaned into her mouth which sent a thrill through her, one that made her gasp and arch into him.

It was much like their third time ever, just after he'd given her the sapphire earrings: slow, languid, worshiping each other with care, the slow burn tantalizing and amazing, their bodies breaking apart and rejoining, each gasped breath and soft cry a prayer to each other. They were so close together, wrapped so tightly around each other that Molly couldn't tell where she ended and he began. Their flesh was hot and slick with sweat, they breathed each other's air and lived in each other's blood, their hearts beating only for the other.

It didn't take much longer for Sherlock to come, exhaling Molly's name, kissing her neck and ear. She purred as he climaxed, feeling his seed fill her as he breathed her name and kissed her. She reached her pleasure languidly, the peak gentle and slow as she shuddered around him.

He lay there, supporting himself slightly so he didn't crush her, holding her close as their breathing slowed. She smiled up at him. "Welcome home," she said softly.

"Indeed"

She nuzzled her head into his shoulder, he was still laying on her. "Amazing, as always," she murmured.

"Why thank you," he murmured back. "You are quite stunning yourself."

_**A/N: And they're home! Time for things to start moving along a bit for the happy couple You didn't think we'd leave you here, now did you? They do want a child...**_


	15. Chapter 13

_**Well, it was a pleasant surprise to have people begging for an update, so here you are. I hope it is satisfactory. ;)**_

Chapter 13: The News

They quickly settled back into their daily routines: Sherlock solving crimes, Molly in the morgue at Bart's, dinner together, nights together, having John and Mary around for tea, ignoring Mycroft, as normal as things could be in the life of anything to do with Sherlock Holmes.

It was around mid-November when she noticed that she was late with her cycle. Molly was at home when she took out the test she had bought at the chemists', her fingers trembling as she waited for the little window to read a plus or minus sign. Two seconds...four...thirty...then... little red plus. She exhaled sharply. She took another test, just to be sure. Thirty four seconds: another little red plus. She grinned ear to ear. She was pregnant. She couldn't wait for Sherlock to be home...time to put her acting skills to the test. She hid both tests and carefully calmed herself down as she heard his key in the door.

"Hello sweetheart. How was your day?" she asked from her favorite chair in the library, a book in her lap.

"Tedious, dull, but I saw John! He sends his love." Sherlock hung up his coat and came into the library, kissing her forehead and looking her over. "You have news."

She stood up and gave him a peck on the cheek. "Oh, yes, I have news," she said quietly, grinning ear to ear. She took his hand and placed it on her womb, the simple gesture saying all that needed to be said. His eyes widened, a slow smile crossing his features until he was beaming. Her grin echoed his. "You're going to be a father," she said.

He started to cry as he kissed her before twirling her around the room, overjoyed. "No one knows yet?"

She shook her head, laughing. "No one but you and I..." she said breathlessly as he twirled her.

"We're making a huge dinner and inviting everyone over. It's settled. And no more alcohol for you for the next eight months, and I'll stock up on patches to make sure I don't lapse back into smoking and we'll arrange for you to start taking time off work or bringing more work home and-"

Molly giggled. "Slow down, slow down! I stopped drinking after we got back from the honeymoon anyway. I've already got quite a supply of patches for you, they're under the sink in the bathroom. I'll have to talk to the people at Bart's to see about...ah...'taking my work home', I don't know if they'd let me. And a dinner party sounds lovely; nothing too fancy. I want this to be casual," she said, answering all of his plans and schemes. He ignored the last bit, sweeping her into the kitchen. "Call everyone," he said, tying on his apron and flying around, making enough to feed at least 10 even though only 5 would be coming and he wasn't hungry.

Molly blinked; Sherlock...in an apron. In. An. _APRON_. She didn't know whether she should laugh or take a picture or both. She shook her head and started making calls as he cooked, smiling to herself.

oOoOo

Within an hour, everyone was at their house, milling around and talking, somewhat confused but happy to be there nonetheless. Dinner was served quickly, and they all got quiet as Sherlock stood. He couldn't wipe the grin off his face as he looked at everyone, suddenly nervous and excited. "We've called you all together this evening to announce that...that Molly and I are expecting."

There was a stunned silence. Then everyone started talking at once, mostly delighted cries of "Oh my GOD!" and "Congratulations!" and one case of "Holy Hell, he's spawned..." (from a rather faint-looking Lestrade). Sherlock snorted at the DI before he was blindsided by John and a laughing, smiling Mary. He glanced down the table at Mycroft who silently toasted him, a faint smirk around his lips.

John was beaming as he hugged Sherlock. "I'm chuffed, I really am! Oh my God, Sherlock, I'm so happy for you," he said, squeezing the detective. Mary kissed his cheek. "Congratulations!" she said brightly. Molly was being hugged within an inch of her life by Mrs. Hudson who was bawling. Sherlock finally laughed as he hugged the doctor back, a slight flush rising in his cheeks as Mary kissed him; he hoped Molly hadn't seen that.

Mrs. Hudson finally let her go in favor of going to hug Sherlock. Lestrade came over, smiling quietly, giving Molly a sound kiss on each cheek. "Congratulations, Molls," he said, holding her by the shoulders. If Sherlock had flushed when Mary kissed him, she was quite pink when Lestrade kissed her. She hoped that Sherlock didn't see _that_...

Sherlock saw Mycroft's eyes darken and he followed his brother's gaze to Lestrade and Molly, his own wife flushed as the DI kissed her cheeks. _Mycroft was jealous_? Molly was a bit taken aback as Mycroft positively scowled at her. He stalked over to where she and Greg were before clearing his throat. "I have an announcement of my own," he said, looking at the group.

Sherlock was able to breathe properly for the first time in several minutes as John released him. He reached for Molly's hand, deductions sending him to a very unlikely but seemingly definite conclusion. He shook his head, smirking at his brother.

"I would like to inform everyone that Detective Inspector Lestrade and I are in a relationship," Mycroft said, putting an arm possessively around the silver-haired man's shoulders. The room went dead silent. "Myc..." groaned Gregory, his face bright red, "why did you have to do that _now_?"

Sherlock burst out laughing, doubling over at the look on Lestrade's face. "He-had-to b-because you-kissed my-wife on the-cheeks," Sherlock gasped, straightening up and wiping tears from his eyes. "He was jealous, you idiot."

Molly blinked. John and Mary blinked. Mrs. Hudson..."Was wondering when you pair were going to shack up," she said, nonplussed. Sherlock took one look at her before laughing again, striding forward to clap each man on the shoulders. "I hope you can handle my brother, Greg," he said, grinning mischievously. "I heard he got into a fair amount of Swiss chocolate a few months back."

Lestrade looked like he wanted nothing more than to punch Sherlock in the face at the moment, and Mycroft _glared_ at his younger brother. "Yes, thank you for your...gift," he said through clenched teeth. Molly had to laugh. She went over and enveloped both men in a hug. "Congratulations, you two!" she said. John and Mary were still looking distinctly shell-shocked. Sherlock glanced back at the army doctor. "Surely you knew Mycroft played for the other team, John?"

John blinked. "I didn't think he played for _any_ team, to be honest," he said slowly. However a smile spread across his face. "Bully for the both of you. Greg, I'm sure you and Molly can compare notes about relationships with the Holmes men," he said, snickering. Molly laughed harder at that. Greg would probably need it.

"Yes, my brother has always enjoyed his dalliances with men. He can be a very expensive date. He does so love his food." Sherlock darted from the room before either man could slug him, returning with the cake he had made for dessert, dark Swiss chocolate with butter cream frosting, plain but decadent

"Sherlock!" Molly hissed after him. That was...rude. But everyone just sighed and rolled their eyes, although Mycroft was looking murderous. His 'KILL' look faded though, when Sherlock brought out the cake. The elder Holmes swallowed hard. "You know I'm on a diet, _Sherly_," he said through gritted teeth, using the childhood nickname that his brother loathed. Molly raised an eyebrow. _Sherly_?

Sherlock smirked. "Call me that again and you won't be able to find an umbrella in the whole of London. Besides, we all know you quit the diet yesterday, and you do so love my cooking." Sherlock set the cake on the table, pulling Molly against him so that Mycroft couldn't retaliate. Mycroft glared. Damn his brother's hide. Greg let out a long-suffering sigh and looked over at Molly. "Yes, they are _always_ like this," she told him.

"Go ahead! Let the happy couple have the first bite."

Mycroft cut a generous slice of cake. "Oh no, Sherlock, that honor should go to you. I _insist_," he said as he shoved the cake into his younger brother's face, smirking thinly.

Sherlock spluttered, cake and icing obscuring his vision. A bit of it managed to land in his mouth..._god_ it was really excellent. Wiping his eyes clear, he gathered the rest of the slice in his hands and ground it into Mycroft's hair. Mycroft gasped, but as they both reached for the cake, intent upon doing more damage, a stern voice split the air.

"_ENOUGH_. Honestly, both of you are acting like children. Stop this at _once_. You both should be ashamed of yourselves. Now. Apologize, shake hands, then go to the bathroom and clean yourselves up."

Molly had positioned herself between the warring siblings, her hands on her hips, glaring at both of them. Mycroft and Sherlock both opened their mouths to protest. "No! No backtalk. GO." she said, pointing to the bathrooms. Sherlock stomped off, grumbling as he doused his head in the cold water from the tap. He came back into the room, heading to the kitchen to fetch serving plates.

Everyone blinked, looking at Molly in surprise. She quickly blushed and looked sheepish. "Well...I have to get practice in," she said. Everyone laughed uproariously. Sherlock came back in with plates for everyone and the cake was quickly served. They all sang praises to Sherlock's cooking, even Mycroft, who came back some time later, after he washed the cake and icing out of his hair.

Sherlock watched as Lestrade and Mycroft sat noticeably closer now, clearly holding hands under the table even though it forced Lestrade to eat with his left hand. _Obvious_ he thought, feeding Molly a bite of the cake. She smiled, noting that Greg was eating with his left hand... she noted that there was a faint blush scalding its way across Mycroft's face. They were holding hands underneath the table; how sweet!

"Sherlock this cake is divine," Mary said as she set her fork down. "D'you think I could have the recipe?"

"Of course. It isn't that complicated as the main ingredient is Swiss Chocolate," he said innocently. Mycroft glared at Sherlock across the table, but Greg reassured him with a squeeze of his hand. Molly laughed a little; they really were a cute couple.

oOoOo

After everyone had finished, Sherlock asked John for help clearing the table as Molly went to do damage control with the happy couple.

"I'm sorry for his behavior," she said to Mycroft and Greg as Sherlock snagged John to help him clear the table. Greg rolled his eyes. "Typical Sherlock," he said with an air of long-suffering. Mycroft sniffed but nodded. Molly gave them both another hug. "Thank you both for coming; and I'm so happy for you, really," she said, beaming as she looked at the men.

Sherlock was quiet as he washed the dishes and John dried, thinking about how much they'd been through together, about what he'd put John through. He still carried guilt with him about the years away, about the Fall, even though he could hide it from Molly well enough now.

John sighed as the silence settled around them. He could tell that Sherlock still felt guilty. "I forgive you, you know. For everything. You did what you had to do; and while it hurt, I understand now that there was an important reason behind it," he said.

Sherlock started, nearly dropping the plate he was holding. "Don't know what you mean."

John let out an exasperated sigh. "Yes, you do, you know _exactly_ what I mean," he said. "And if you think you can hide it from Molly, let me tell you; don't. Women can sense these things. I'm sure she's asked you what's wrong, even though you haven't said anything to her."

Sherlock glanced at the doctor as he handed him the plate, starting on the glasses. "She'll tell me there's no point to it, to my feeling guilty. And I _hurt_ you. I hurt everyone trying to protect them and for what? So Jim could come back and not be dead and nearly kill the woman I've come to love more than-" He stopped himself, aware of what he'd been about to say.

John quirked an eyebrow. "You hurt her too, you know. And that bastard is dead, dead and gone; he doesn't need to haunt you anymore. Also...more than what?" he asked.

Sherlock flushed deep red, wanting to disappear. "Morethanyou" he muttered as softly as he could.

Both of John's eyebrows went up. "Huh," he said, slightly surprised. He swallowed hard as an awkward silence settled in the kitchen. "Sherlock...I...I'm sorry," he said softly, not knowing what else to say.

"I never intended for you to find out, John. Not when you're happy with Mary."

John nodded, still processing the information. "And you're happy with Molly." A sudden thought came to him. "Sherlock, I swear to God, if this is just some sort of substitution thing, I will _kill_ you," he said, staring hard at the taller man. Sherlock felt the blood drain from his face as fast as it had pooled there. "It isn't. We-we had that argument already."

"Are you sure? Are you absolutely one hundred percent positive? Because if you aren't...God...it'll...it would kill her," the sandy-haired doctor said softly.

Sherlock nodded. "We both had our doubts and fears, but-but I am sure. I would have broken it off ages ago if I weren't."

John breathed a sigh of relief. Good...the pre-Fall version of Sherlock could have done that, but this man in front of him now, he wouldn't. On his travels and trials, he had grown. He took a deep breath. "Sherlock, you do know that I love you, not romantically, but I love you. You're my best friend...we're like brothers, but...closer, if that makes any sense," he said. Words were never John Hamish Watson's strong point, but he did the best he could. Sherlock nodded. "I do, and I love you as well and I care for you. I'd never want you to be hurt or in pain; I couldn't wish that on you, and I'm sorry that I went ahead and did it for three years. You're my only friend, the only person I've ever really called a friend in my life."

John nodded and wrapped Sherlock in a hug; he didn't like to think of the three years that Sherlock was 'dead' for. It was a dark time in his life, with Mary being one of the only bright spots. But that was behind him now; and while he still acknowledged those years, he looked forward to the future, to the days ahead. Sherlock hugged him back, squeezing him gently until he realized he'd left wet, soapy handprints on John's back. "Sorry..."

John chuckled. "It's all right. Better than cake," he said, grinning.

Sherlock laughed, squeezing John again before turning back to the dished, humming softly and grinning. John's eyebrows went up again as his friend started humming. "Never took you for one to sing...it was always that bloody violin at 221B," he said, going back to drying the dishes.

"You loved that violin."

"Not at three in the morning."

"Molly likes my singing. I took lessons as a boy and rather cast the aside as unnecessary until now."

John's eyebrows, if at all possible, went higher. "So, Molly likes it? Hm..." he said, grinning.

"What is so amusing about that?"

"I never thought I'd see the day of you doing something for someone else because they _liked_ it. Color me surprised," he said, chuckling.

"I stopped taking your socks and things for experiments."

"That was only because I threatened to call Lestrade in and make you work with Anderson."

"That was completely unfair and you know it."

"Not when you took _all_ of my socks and put tissue samples in them!"

"I was out of containers, and I needed to test how they'd react to wool/cotton blends. I remember explaining it to you when you came home from work."

"But my _socks_? You could have gone out to the store and gotten new ones! Wouldn't the fact that I had worn them compromise the data or something?"

"Too much legwork. I was already upstairs, and they were all freshly laundered."

John groaned and rolled his eyes. "One thing hasn't changed; you're still useless to argue with," he huffed before chuckling.

"It's because I always win."

"No, it's because I walk away before I deck you," he said.

"You have decked me before."

"Well, yes, but not over socks."

"Over other things."

"Yes. But those things have been forgiven."

Sherlock smiled, handing John the last glass and scrubbing the silverware. "Good."

John smiled back. There was a long, comfortable silence. "You know...I still have the ashtray you nicked for me from Buckingham Palace," he said. Sherlock grinned. "I gave you a hint about Mycroft that day you know...you asked if we were there to see the Queen."

John's eyes went wide. "Oh. My. God. You did!" he said, nearly howling with laughter. "You really did...Jeeze," he was doubled over, gasping for air.

Sherlock beamed, watching John, the man's laugh making him feel like they were back at the start for a brief moment. When John got control of himself, there was a soft tapping at the kitchen door. Mary stuck her head in. "Everything all right?" she asked.

"No worries, Mary. Your man is just fine."

John nodded, walking over to his wife to embrace her and give her a soft kiss on the temple. "I am, love. Just reminiscing about our days of bachelorhood," he said, grinning. Sherlock smiled at the two of them, at how happy they were together. He felt his heart swell for them. John smiled back at Sherlock before they all walked out to join the rest of the guests. Molly was talking animatedly with Mrs. Hudson, Greg and Mycroft were sitting together, their heads bowed towards each other, speaking softly.

Sherlock watched his brother for a moment before coming up behind Molly, resting his hands on her stomach and kissing her neck gently. "Having fun?"

She started as he interrupted her. "Ah! Yes, I am; I think it's wonderful that we were able to tell everyone. Although I'm never going to be able to look at a chocolate cake again without laughing," she said, snickering. He grinned, resting his chin on her shoulder. "Well, I'm sure my face covered in it was a sight," he said sarcastically.

She laughed a little harder. "I was more thinking about your brother's face when you rubbed it in his hair," Molly said. She had a sudden thought. "Oh...you know, if Greg and Mycroft get married...we'll be related to Lestrade. You'll have another brother," she finished.

He groaned. "Oh god, I don't know if I could handle that. Mycroft would never leave me alone about manipulating him."

Molly raised an eyebrow. She could see Mycroft's point.

"He'd have _family rights_ over me at work..." Sherlock groaned again, teasing more than anything, but slightly concerned about how it would affect his work.

She furrowed her brow. "I thought you said you didn't work for the police...Greg and Mycroft being together shouldn't make a difference. Unless you count Greg inviting you over for dinner during a case," she said, smiling.

"I don't work for them, they beg me to help them and I graciously accept. I'm simply making the observation that Lestrade would be able to somehow use his relationship with Mycroft against me."

Molly sighed. "I don't think Greg would do that; he's not that type of man," she said.

"You know it's not in my nature to make things easy for him."

"Well, if you poke him with a stick about it, he _is_ going to poke back."

"I don't have a stick."

She laughed. "It's a figure of speech, dearest. If you tease him about it, he _will_ retaliate," she said.

"The way Mycroft did earlier, you mean?"

"Not necessarily, but that's the point."

Sherlock shook his head, giving Mrs. Hudson a smile before spinning his wife, dancing with her around the room, humming to himself. She laughed as he spun her, moving her in a quick waltz around the dining room. Mycroft rolled his eyes at them, Mrs. Hudson beamed, John and Mary smiled, and Lestrade just chuckled and shook his head.

"Jealous, Mycroft?"

Mycroft sighed and refused to take the bait. He did, however, contemplate sticking out his foot and tripping Sherlock as he passed, but seeing as how he was holding tight to Molly, that could have ended quite badly. Sherlock saw the thought cross his mind, grinning. "It's not nice to trip people, Mycroft." He glanced at the other two couples. "Well, come on! Let's all dance. Molly, wait here, I'll go get my violin."

She raised her eyebrows as Sherlock quickly disappeared upstairs to fetch his violin. She turned to Mycroft. "Is this...normal for him?" she asked.

The politician shook his head. "I haven't seen him this excited since the last time I played pirates with him as a child. I think he was 10 at the time."

Molly had to stifle a giggle. _Pirates_? Well...that just gave her a bevy of ideas for later.

Sherlock bounded back downstairs, instrument in hand. He settled in the corner of the room before striking up a lively Scottish reel on his violin.

Mary took John's hands and led him to the floor, despite his protests. They swung around and around, laughing, moving perfectly in time with each other. Greg and Mycroft were adamantly staying seated, but the DI was tapping his feet to the music.

Sherlock came up and played behind the two, nudging Mycroft and hissing at him to ask his boyfriend to dance. Mycroft groaned and rolled his eyes. That was Sherlock, obnoxious baby brother as ever. Knowing he would get no peace if he didn't cave to his wishes, Mycroft stood and half-bowed at the waist to his partner. "Gregory, would you give me the honor of a dance?" he asked, holding out a hand. "Oh all right," Lestrade said, cracking a smile. The two cut a turn about the room before finding a natural groove that fit them. Molly smiled as she watched them and John and Mary dance, all four of them happy.

Sherlock was beside himself, the sight of Mycroft and _Greg_ of all people dancing making him laugh with pleasure. As the song wound down, he chose a slower tune, a solo violin version of "Can you feel the love tonight" since Molly had made him watch the film a few days before. She said he needed to be well versed in Disney for their eventual child.

The two couples dancing nestled close to each other, moving slowly with the music, sharing quick little kisses here and there. Molly watched, pleased and surprised, as Greg whispered something into Mycroft's ear that caused him to blush profusely. Would wonders never cease? Sherlock noticed, having caught a snippet of it: what Lestrade was going to do to Mycroft when they got home. Ugh, too easy, but he was able to admit somewhere that it was nice to see his brother happy.

When Sherlock finished the song on the violin, Mycroft moved away from Greg and took the instrument before striking up a song that made Molly gasp; a violin version of _O my luve is like a red red rose_. "Go dance with your wife, _Sherly_," Mycroft said, gently kicking his brother in the shins but grinning all the while.

Sherlock swatted Mycroft's arm but took Molly's hand all the same, grinning down at her as she snuggled close, moving slowly in circles around the room. They heard Mrs. Hudson and Mary sigh happily and saw Greg and John smiling, although the DI was smiling at Mycroft. Time seemed to slow and almost stop as they moved together, the moment only broken by applause when the song finished.

"Oh my, look at the time! I'm afraid I have to toddle back home now," Mrs. Hudson said. John and Mary echoed her, citing things about work in the morning. "Yes, I'm afraid a pressing matter has developed that needs my attention. I'll see you soon. And...do try to avoid any cakes in the future, brother dear," Mycroft said as hugs and fond goodbye's were exchanged.

"Pressing matter indeed," Sherlock muttered, glancing at Molly. "That went well."

She smiled and leaned into him, watching as their guest went their separate ways. "It did; although I was not expecting Mycroft's announcement in the slightest," she said.

Sherlock chuckled. "I'd known he'd been seeing someone, puts on more weight when happily in a relationship, but I'll admit I didn't really put the pieces together until I saw him with Lestrade."

She laughed a little. "Well, I'm glad they're together...they make each other happy, that's clear."

"Indeed, and I do believe we should expect a happy announcement by Christmas. Lestrade is planning to ask him."

Her eyes widened and her eyebrows went up. "What? No! Oh my God, that's wonderful!" she said, grinning, her eyes shining.

"It couldn't be more clear from the way he looks at my brother."

"Hm. We should probably be hearing from John and Mary soon as well," she said.

"About-" Sherlock's eyes widened, mind running through the night. "Mary's six weeks along already."

"Seven and a half, actually," she said, chuckling. "John didn't want to say anything yet."

"_You_ knew-Why did John not want to say anything?"

"Women's intuition, dearest love, that, and she told me, and John was being polite; he didn't want to 'steal our thunder', as it were."

"Mycroft did a pretty good job of that. And I'd want to know, he knows that!"

"He'll be inviting you out to lunch within the next day or so, I bet," she said. "And Mycroft is your brother, he's supposed to do things like that."

"I look forward to it."

She chuckled. "I'm sure you are."

Sherlock leaned down and kissed her. "Thank you for everything"

Molly kissed him right back. "Thank _you_. Also...Mycroft told me you had a fondness for pirates?" she said, raising an eyebrow.

"I-I" he blushed "I wanted to be one as a child until I decided I wanted to be a consulting detective with the Carl Powers case."

She held him close, laughing. "Don't worry about it. When I was a kid, I wanted to be the lead singer of a rock band," she said.

"You could have done that, just needed some confidence boosting as a child."

"Yes, but if I didn't become a pathologist, I would have never met you. All in all, that dream is one better deferred," she mused.

"If you insist." He rested his head against hers. "We're going to have a baby."

She smiled. "Yes, we are," she said softly.

"A baby..." he murmured, musing over the idea

"_Our_ baby," she said, grinning.

"Our baby," he agreed. "Boy or girl? Any intuition? I'm sure I'll deduce it soon enough. The body reacts differently to different gendered fetuses."

Molly laughed. "It's too soon to tell! But...I have the feeling it's a boy," she said, pressing a hand to her womb.

"Benedict Tobias..."

"Benedict Tobias Holmes."

Sherlock beamed. "I hope it's a boy. I love it if it's a girl, but, I think I really do want a son, you know?"

She laughed. "I don't even care what gender our baby is. As long as it's healthy, I'm fine," she said.

Sherlock's brow furrowed. Molly saw the look on his face...she knew that look well. "Sherlock, everything will be fine. We have excellent medicine, your best friend is a doctor, _I'm_ a doctor. And I'm sure you'd be able to deduce within seconds if anything were wrong," she said softly, taking his face in her hands. He nodded, trying to shut away the images, finally locking them in his mind palace. "All right."

She could tell that he was still worried. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his forehead, as if to banish the thoughts that clouded his mind.

Sherlock picked her up, carrying her to their room. He turned on the telly as they changed for bed, needing a distraction. Molly could tell that he was still upset. She changed into the blue pajamas and crawled into bed next to him, snuggling close. He wasn't even watching the telly, he was just having it on to distract him.

They matched; he secretly loved that. He flipped channels until her found the superhero movie she'd been raving about, the one about the brothers. He slowly relaxed as he listened to her rave about it, kissing her on the temple and growling playfully when it became clear she had a crush on one of the characters. Molly squealed with joy as the movie "Thor" came on the telly. She loved mythology, Norse especially. She had fun pointing out the inaccuracies in the movie, although she had to admit the cinematography/graphics for Asgard were stunning. She laughed at Thor and bit her lip over Loki...he had always been her favorite, and the actor who portrayed him was _very_ easy on the eyes.

"Should I be concerned," Sherlock murmured at one moment when it was clear she was drooling slightly, the character "Loki" telling his brother their father was dead.

"Hm?" she murmured distractedly. "Concerned? No!"

"Really?"

"Really."

"Good." He kissed the top of her head. She snuggled closer against him, resting her head on his shoulder with a contented sigh. The movie finished and he went to turn it off, but she practically stole the remote, protecting it until the end when there was a tag that confused him greatly. "I thought he was dead? But could the man see him?"

"Loki is a shapeshifter, remember? He can take any form he wants...including that of the scientist's," she explained.

"But he fell out into space that had to kill him! Molly, it doesn't make sense."

"Sherlock; he's a god. It takes an awful lot to kill a god," she said. He shook his head, biting his tongue to keep from going into full deduction mode. "All right, all right."

She smiled as she watched him actually bite his tongue to stop from launching into one of his deductions. He flipped through the channels again, finding another film. He was enjoying the mindlessness of it all, needing a distraction until he could sort out his mind palace.

She saw "Curse of the Black Pearl." "Oh! Oh! Stop at this one, you'll _love_ it," she enthused, capturing the remote and holding it hostage. The music started, and the ships soon came into view. She smiled and cast surreptitious glances over at Sherlock. Sherlock raised an eyebrow at her, but it soon became evident why she wanted to show him. _Pirates_. His lips twitched as he held her closer, scoffing at the inaccuracies and deducing the curse and the true nature of it quickly before he noticed her drooling over another character. "I can't take you anywhere."

Molly sighed. "Johnny Depp is quite attractive as Captain Jack Sparrow; I like his rougishness," she said. "And don't worry, like any of them would _ever_ hold a candle to you."

"Rogishness isn't a word Molly-"

She smacked him lightly on the arm "You know what I meant."

"Yes, I know. Scruffy and shirtless."

She laughed, doubling over. He just said 'scruffy and shirtless'...for some reason, that struck her as hilarious. "I was thinking more about his attitude, but that works as well," she said once she had regained her control.

"What? Drunk all the time? Hardly attractive Molly."

She sighed. "Again, fictional character; doesn't hold a candle to you, my amazingly brilliant husband, light of my life, father to my unborn child," she said, stroking his ego and giving him a quick peck on the lips, smiling. He rolled his eyes. "Suck up." But he smiled and kissed her back, turning his attention to the film.

The film ended and once more Molly didn't let him have the remote back, snickering as he jumped a bit at the after-credits clip. He would deny jumping later, smiling slightly as she guarded the remote once more. Satisfied once the credits were over, she relinquished the remote. "Your turn to pick if you want," she said as she handed it to him.

He flipped a few channels, finding one they knew. "Lasto beth nin, tolo dan ngalad..." he murmured.

She smiled as she settled back, letting the music wash over her as the movie began. "It began with the forging of the great Rings; three were given to the Elves: immortal, wisest, and fairest of all beings. Seven to the Dwarf lords; great miners and craftsmen of the mountain halls. And nine rings were given to the race of Men, who above all else desired power. But they were all of them deceived, for another ring was made..."

Sherlock smiled, letting the film and her voice wash over him, finally falling asleep as Aragorn and Arwen shared their moment in Rivendell, dreaming of himself and his Elven bride under the moonlight. Molly felt him fall asleep and shut the television off before she turned off the bedside lamp, snuggling into him, letting his gentle breathing soothe her. She followed soon after, formulating plans for later in her head.

_**I hadn't planned on getting this up today, but what can I say? Motivation is marvelous. Read and review! Next one should be up soon.**_


	16. Chapter 14

_**A/N: As soon as Mycroft mentioned pirates, ladycorvidae knew exactly what had to happen next.**_

Chapter 14: Pirates and Angels

The next morning dawned; Sherlock was already up and gone when she woke. He had left her a note, saying that he was out on a case and would probably be home that evening. Molly grinned...perfect. It was her day off and she had some items to procure for that evening. She found a white peasant-type blouse in her closet, and some very close and tight-fitting dark pants. Then it was off to the shops to find a long coat (she had been wanting one for some time anyway), a tricorn hat, tall leather boots, and a convincing replica cutlass and flintlock pistol. She finally found all of them and brought them home, before drawing Sherlock a map with compass coordinates. She grinned wickedly. "Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me," she sang as she worked.

Sherlock spent the day running all over London, tracking down the head of a major drug ring, and brushing off Lestrade when he asked for a report, claiming exhaustion and Molly's pregnancy as excuses before going home.

"You just told us yester-!" the DI yelled after the consulting detective, but it was too late; the door shut with a resounding -slam!-. Greg closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "They don't pay me nearly enough for this shite," he muttered.

Back at the house, Molly was getting ready, putting on the outfit and pinning the note to the corkboard with a dagger where she was sure he could see it. She went and hid in the greenhouse, the lush plant life giving her excellent cover.

Sherlock unlocked their door, shrugging off his coat and dropping his things in the foyer, toeing off his shoes as he went to the kitchen and stopping as he saw the note and the dagger. He ran to it, terrified for a moment before recognizing Molly's handwriting. His lips curled as he looked over the map, deducing her hiding place in less than five seconds. He set the things down, slowly sauntering into the greenhouse, pretending he didn't know where she was.

She heard him walk into the greenhouse. She knew that _he _knew where she was already, which was why she moved her hiding spot. As he walked toward the clump of greenery where she was, she stealthily moved out of her place and went around the side, the plants giving her enough cover for her movements to go unnoticed. She latched the greenhouse door and found a new spot to hide, grinning in anticipation as adrenaline hummed through her nerves. He found the original spot in seconds, seeing another note. "Treasure hunt," he muttered, heading back into the house and going to the library.

Molly heard him exit the greenhouse from her new place. She grinned and had to stifle a giggle as she left another note and quickly ran along; there were two more spots to go to before her desired destination. She wondered why she hadn't done this earlier. Sherlock wasn't expecting her to be in the library, reading the new note before heading up to the bedroom, skipping a step in the clear conclusion of the activity.

She knew Sherlock would skip the steps that led him to the lab and go straight to the bedroom...he was childish like that. She left one last note on the pillows of their bed before she went to wait in the study, lounging in _his_ chair, her legs crossed over the arms of it at the ankles. He strode into the room only to find another note. He growled at it before barging into the study...and stopping dead.

She grinned as she heard him walk into the bedroom and growl, then the door to the study flew open and he stopped, his eyes wide. Molly rose from the chair in a fluid movement, hooking her thumbs into her belt. "Took you long enough to figure it out, you slack-jawed carbunkle. Now...do you think yerself man enough to turn pirate?" she asked, roughening her voice and pacing around him in a circle before she stood in front of him, scrutinizing his face.

Sherlock's brain had completely stopped, none of his deductions and conclusions coming up with exactly this scenario. He couldn't even speak or move, his mouth hanging open as he stared, taking in every single detail of her outfit and voice. She raised an eyebrow as he just...stared, resembling the 'slack-jawed' comment she had just made, his mouth open wide. "I asked you a question, blaggard. Answer swiftly!" she said prodding him in the chest with a finger.

He jumped. "Y-yes ma'am" he stamered, shutting his mouth.

Now both her eyebrows went up. Stammering? And _ma'am_? She really _should_ have done this a while ago. "Good lad," she purred. His eyes rolled back before he forced himself to open them and focus on her, on the power she was exuding.

"Now, laddie, being a pirate isn't easy. Sure, there's excitement to be had, but it's hard work. And it's quite...dangerous," she said, walking around him in a circle again, leaning in to breathe the word 'dangerous' in his ear. "D'you think you're _man_ enough to handle it?" she said as she stood in front of him again, her feet shoulder-width apart and her hands on her hips, her chin up defiantly as she looked him dead in the eyes.

"Yes," he breathed, shivering at the word 'dangerous'.

She grinned. "Excellent. Being a pirate also means you're not afraid to go after what you want. D'you think you can do that too?" she said as she shrugged off the long coat and tossed the tricorn hat to one side (coincidentally, it landed perfectly atop the bust of Shakespeare in the corner). He knew his eyes were darkening but concern still flicked through them. "Yes."

She leaned in closer, reassuring him with her eyes that everything was all right; she had noted his concern and was aware of it. She lowered her voice to a rough whisper. "Then show me what kind of a pirate you are. _Take_ what you _want._"

He seized her and kissed her roughly, hands everywhere as he tried to touch and consume her entire being at once. She moaned growled in her throat; this was possibly the best idea she'd ever had. He lifted her, wrapping her legs around his waist as he carried her back to their room, claiming her mouth before lowering her to the bed, resisting the urge to throw her. He stripped her in seconds, clothes landing all over the room as he latched onto her neck, biting and sucking a dark mark to the skin as he yanked off his trousers, ignoring his shirt completely. She gasped as he suckled her neck, biting it and laving the skin with his tongue, leaving a very visible mark. Breathing heavily, Molly looked up at him from where she lay, a smirk curling on her lips.

"Take what I want?" he growled, eyes black with a faint ring of blue at the edge. "I can do that."

"Then do it," she growled back.

Grinning wickedly, he rolled her over and pinned her arms to the bed with his, kissing his way down her back. He forced her down, growling a warning as he kissed her arse, nipping occasionally. Her breath caught in her throat as he kissed every inch of her bare skin, leaving small bites that left her moaning. He had her pinned so well that she could barely even wriggle.

Sherlock finally kissed the top of her crack, licking cheekily up her spine as he moved up, entering her from behind and lowering himself back down over her. She purred as his tongue trailed along her skin, then keened as he entered her. She was still pinned under him, and this small helplessness was dizzyingly arousing to her.

Sherlock let her adjust for only a few seconds before pounding into her, forcing her into the mattress hard, determined to drive her over the edge as many times as it took for him to finish. After about two thrusts, she came, panting his name, feeling her eyes roll back into her head as he didn't stop his movements.

"What I want is to come inside you, to take you until I'm done," he purred in her ear, nipping the lobe with his teeth.

"Then -_ah_!- do it..." she panted, clenching her inner muscles around him tightly as he worked in her, his breath hot against her ear, sending shivers up her spine as he nipped her. He grinned at her. "Such a wanton little pirate lass...I thought you were made of sterner stuff," he growled, the extra friction delicious but not quite enough.

"Do I need to prove my mettle to you, then?" she asked, biting her lower lip hard as he went particularly deep.

'Perhaps," he whispered, licking from her ear to her shoulder, finally feeling the burn begin in his gut. She shivered as he licked her, then waited one, two, three heartbeats before surging up, surprising him. She rolled him over onto his back and rode him, her back towards him, never missing a beat.

He gasped, three rocks from her making him come hard, throwing his head back against the sheets. She felt the coil in her lower belly winding tighter as he gasped, breaking as he came. She climaxed with him, shouting his name to the skies as her fingers wound themselves into the sheets and her steady rhythm became rapid bucking. He rode it out with her, breathing hard as they finally stilled. "Jesus Christ, Molly."

She pulled herself off of him to lay next to him on the bed, panting, laughing breathlessly. "Safe to say that you're on the crew now," she said, nuzzling her head against him. He purred and kissed her head. "Guess I should thank Mycroft."

She laughed a little harder. "For the both of us."

"Wonder what he and Lestrade do." Sherlock didn't realize he said it out loud.

"Augh...I don't want to think about that," she said, screwing up her face. "Their love life is private and should remain as such."

Sherlock started, glancing at her. "Oh, right, yes, sorry."

She laughed again. "No worries. I just...I don't want the mental image of your brother, naked," she said as she turned her face towards his skin again.

He scrunched up his face. "Oh no, Molly make it go away!"

She rolled over on top of him, straddling him again and kissed him soundly. "Does that help?" she said, smirking.

He sighed into her lips. "Thanks." He was exhausted and his stomach rumbled. "Haven't eaten all day."

She got up, off of him and padded into the study, returning with a tray of finger-food; sandwiches and cut-up fruit, as well as some of the Swiss chocolates that were still left.

"You really planned out everything. How did you know?"

She smirked. "You're always hungry after a case," she said. They ate and cuddled, Sherlock eventually flipping the telly on, stopping on a show. "John loved this and always complained when he missed an episode. I could never understand the appeal."

She made an indignant noise. "It's Doctor Who! What's not to love? A time-travelling alien in a blue police box and sonic screwdrivers! Not to mention all the people that he meets and the monsters that he faces. And he's smart. Actually...I wonder what would happen if you two met up?" she said, musing on that. After a moment of thought, she burst out laughing. "You'd probably punch each other in the face after five minutes."

None of her words made any sense to him. "I take it you are a fan as well?"

She nodded vigorously. "I think you'd like it too, if you gave it a chance," she said.

He shook his head, "But not from the middle. I'd need to start from the beginning. Science fiction tends to get too outlandish to make completely accurate deductions."

She grinned. "From the very first Doctor, or from the ninth?" she asked.

He shook his head slowly. "What? There's more than one?" He had never paid much attention to John's ramblings about it.

"As of right now, there have been ten. We're on the eleventh Doctor right now. See, the Doctor is an alien, called a Time Lord. He's the last of his kind. And when he's injured or really sick, to the point of death, he can do this thing called 'regenerating'. That means he can cure himself and change his appearance. But there's only a set number of times a Time Lord can regenerate. However, there are various theories to disprove it..."

"Thus, based on the length of the show from when John used to go on about it, the writers can keep it going by replacing the lead actor. I suppose that is logical."

She nodded. "Shhh...the show's starting. OH! it's the one with the statues! My favorite!" she said, excited.

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock started watching the show, pulled in against his will, confused at first until he saw the statues move when they weren't looking, everything suddenly making terrible sense. Molly watched as he slowly got into the show, enjoying the look on his face when he figured out just what was going on. She wondered if she should get an angel statue to move around the house, just to tease him...

He started arguing with the television during the Doctor's warning, yelling at them when they looked away and jumping backwards, knocking the tray over when the true form of the Angel was revealed. She jumped when he did, the true form of the Angel startling her. It had been a while since she had seen the episode and she had forgotten just how unnerving the statues were. He scrambled backwards, eyes wide, suddenly six-years-old in his mind as suprise and emotion overwhelmed the logical side of his brain. Molly looked over at him, huddled against the headboard, eyes like saucers. She held him, feeling his heart pound. "You okay?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

He nodded, holding his breath until the scene in the basement was over, the angels tricked. He had seen it a few moments before it happened, relief flooding through him when they were safe. She kissed the top of his head as he breathed a sigh of relief, fighting the urge to chuckle. He was fine until the last few moments of the episode, cursing like a sailor as he was forever ruined for statues, even the bust of Shakespeare in the study starting to frighten him.

"You _do_ know that this is just a show; none of it is real," she murmured. He exhaled in a huff. "Yes."

"Then you can stop jumping around statues," she said.

He glared at her. "Show me something else, a bit-ah-lighter, if you please. I have to store this in my mind palace and need a distraction."

She nodded and thought; what would be a good episode to show him? Hmm...lighter and softer...aha! That's it! "The Shakespeare Code" it is. He watched as she went On Demand, choosing a different episode that sent them to Elizabethan England, the show easier to understand until they started talking about Rose. "Who is she?"

"His previous companion before Martha; he fell in love with her and...well, he lost her," she said quietly.

"I'm assuming it's far more complicated than that."

"Spoilers," she said simply. He continued to the end of the episode, nodding in approval. "Good time of tying the plot together, keeping Harry Potter as a running theme."

"Actually, what's interesting is that the actor who plays the Doctor was actually in the fourth Harry Potter movie," she said, smiling.

"I never saw them. Or read them."

"What! Oh, Sherlock, you need to! They're good books," she said.

"Never interested."

"I think you might like them, but I won't force you to read them," she said, smiling.

He nodded, saving the information. She sighed happily, stretching out next to him as she enjoyed his company. He soon pulled up the blankets, wrapping himself around her and kissing her neck before falling asleep. She fell asleep against him, lulled by his warmth and breathing.

He woke in the middle of the night, sweating in terror. The Angels had Molly was all he could think before realizing she was curled against him, safe in his arms. She felt him shaking and woke up. "Mnnh...Shr'lck? You all right?" she mumbled, pressing closer to him to reassure him.

"Angels...no, no I'm fine." He kissed the top of her head, tightening his grip.

"M'here, don' worry," she said as she wrapped her arms around him before quickly falling asleep again.

He lay awake for another hour, unwilling to open his eyes.

_**A/N: Sherlock's reaction to the Weeping Angels is very similar to my own. Never watch that episode in the middle of the night the first time. It was a really stupid idea. I thought it would be interesting if that side of him, the side dealing with that type of fear were tied into the part of him that is still a child and never really dully grew or developed, but maybe that's just me.**_


	17. Chapter 15

_**A/N: It is so cool to have everyone getting into the story. Here comes a nice, fun chapter for you.**_

Chapter 15: Names and Proposals

Two months passed; the morning sickness started, much to Molly's displeasure, but it was getting better. She informed her higher-ups at Bart's about her pregnancy and they put her on desk duty (which annoyed her, but she saw the point). She grew rounder and fuller as the little life inside her thrived. Sherlock found himself frequently distracted on cases, never enough to lose the criminals but enough that he would trail off in the middle of a deduction which annoyed Lestrade no end.

"For God's sake, Sherlock! If you keep trailing off in the middle of a sentence, I'm going to assign you to Anderson!" Greg raved one day after Sherlock had started and then failed to finish a sentence eight times in a row. Sherlock snapped to attention, eyes flashing and speaking faster than he ever had, the deduction tumbling from his lips and framing the guilty man easily. "_There_. Satisfied?"

Lestrade's head reeled from the sudden influx of information, but he retained it, making the arrest. "Better. Now go home."

Sherlock nodded, heading home but not before stopping at a shop and picking up a few more toys and books; it was becoming something of a weekly habit. Molly's first ultrasound was the next day, and his wife was working on getting dinner ready when Sherlock walked in. "Hello, my love!" she called. She moved through the kitchen, smiling as she saw the bag in his hand. Suddenly she gasped and placed a hand to her abdomen. "Nothing's wrong!" she hurriedly assured him, her face breaking into a wide, wild grin. "I just felt the baby move for the first time!"

His eyes went from shock to excitement, setting the bags down and running to her, coat swirling around him as he place his hand on her belly.

"You won't be able to feel it just yet...wait another two months," she said. "It felt like...a little flutter," she said, her face glowing.

He looked at her in awe. "Wow," he breathed, finally glancing at the half-made meal. "Want a hand?"

"Please," she said, smiling. The work went faster with another pair of hands and they ate quickly before heading off to bed. Sherlock's new favorite way to sleep was in the spoon position; he was curled all around her, one hand protectively placed over her abdomen. He stroked her belly gently tonight, the knowledge that she'd felt the baby move making him smile as he slept.

oOoOo

The next morning Molly woke bright and early, getting ready for the ultrasound appointment. She was slightly nervous but glad that Sherlock was going with her. He fussed over her, almost forgetting to put on shoes before leaving

When he finally found his shoes, they left. The ultrasound technicians were very patient, especially with all of Sherlock's fussing. "They _do_ know what they're doing," she had to tell him more than once. The procedure went as planned; both mother and the growing babe were doing fine. Sherlock finally let them push him back so they could go ahead with the procedure, eyes shining with joy at the fuzzy picture on the monitor.

"That's the head there," the technician said, pointing to a slightly larger fuzzy blob on the screen, "and there's an arm. You won't be able to tell the sex of the child until you're five months or so along...your next appointment with us should be about three weeks from now, just as a preliminary checkup." Molly nodded as she cleaned herself of the gel that they needed. She and Sherlock walked out, hand in hand, beaming. Sherlock couldn't hold still, taking her for ice cream in the middle of January in his excitement. She laughed as he took her out for ice cream, although she settled for tea; sweet things were beginning to turn her stomach.

oOoOo

Another two months passed. They were just settling down for bed, Sherlock laying beside Molly when she felt it: a strong thump. She looked at Sherlock, her eyes wide. She took his hand and placed it on the growing hillock of her womb. "C'mon...another one for Daddy," she murmured, smiling at her belly. Sherlock looked at her, puzzled until he felt it, gasping. "Oh god, oh god _Molly._"

She beamed at him, tears filling her eyes. "Saying 'hello'...it's so good that you can feel it too," she said. She moved his hand as she felt another little flurry of kicks and punches.

"Boy, has to be."

She nodded. "I'm fairly certain." She gasped as a particularly strong hit caught her off-guard, moving both hers and Sherlock's hands up a little.

"All right?" It was going to be a long four months if the baby insisted on kicking and punching her black and blue.

She nodded. "Wait until it gets closer to the due date and he's almost ready to come out...by then, you'll be actually able to _see_ him moving around," she said. The thought was exciting and unnerving at the same time. "Try to get some rest," he murmured, kissing her gently, planning a special treat for the next day. She nodded, laying on her side as she traced patterns across her skin, feeling their baby move within her as she fell asleep.

He rose before her the next morning, whispering their words in her ear before going to the kitchen and making breakfast bringing it to her. She woke to his voice, hearing him clattering around in the kitchen before he brought her breakfast in bed. She beamed as he placed the tray in front of her: an egg and some toast and herbal tea, as well as some fruit. "Thank you, this looks amazing," she murmured, giving him a kiss.

"Welcome," he murmured, getting dressed and laying out clothes for her. "Library when you're done," he said. She smiled and nodded, watching him go off. She ate and dressed before she went to the library, raising an eyebrow at him. He cut a dashing figure, standing in front of the fireplace, his violin in hand. Her eyes widened as she figured it out.

"Sit," he said, gesturing to the most comfortable armchair, stretching and rolling his neck and shoulders before lifting the bow and beginning to play

She sat, watching him, breathless. He tucked the violin under his chin and began to play: beautiful music that made her heart pound, music so sweet she laughed, music so poignant that tears ran down her face. The little life inside her kicked and rolled throughout the entire thing and she placed her hands over her belly to calm him (to no avail). When Sherlock finally finished, she gave him a standing ovation. "Bravo! Oh, my dearest love, that was beautiful," she said, going over to him as he removed the violin from under his chin. She took the bow from him and placed his hand on her belly again so he could feel the child within her frolic. "Little Ben seems to have liked it too," she said.

"We find out the sex tomorrow," Sherlock whispered, beaming with her praise. Molly nodded, excited. She could hardly wait.

oOoOo

The next day dawned and she was up with the sun. The trip to the ultrasound room seemed to take forever. The technician did his job, finding the baby and making sure that everything was in working order. Then finally, _finally_, he asked the question. "Do you want to know the child's gender?" Molly nodded emphatically, as did Sherlock. A few more movements with the wand, and the technician smiled. "Congratulations; it's a boy."

Sherlock felt the tears before he realized he was crying with joy. A boy. A _boy_. _His_ son. "Benedict Tobias Holmes," he murmured to Molly's belly. Molly started crying too, smiling through her tears. The boy-child in her belly kicked as his father murmured his name to him.

"He knows his name already." Sherlock beamed up at her through his tears, kissing the skin, wrinkling his nose as he tasted the jelly. "Ugh" he spat, wiping his mouth off. She laughed (as did the technician). "You prawn," she said between fits of giggles. "Wait until I get cleaned up to do that!"

He chuckled. "Impatient, remember?" He helped her clean up before taking her home. "Dinner with everyone tonight? Announce the sex and the name?"

oOoOo

Molly went and got the door as the bell rang; it was John and a large, luminous Mary. Molly beamed as hugs and kisses were given all around, taking their coats. Sherlock called a hello from the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on a veritable feast. John beamed at Molly. "Look at you! You look amazing," he said. Molly grinned and thanked him. "Sherlock, come out here and say 'hello' to John and Mary!" she called into the kitchen as she hung up the coats.

He came bustling out after placing a few dishes on the dining room table. "You've beaten Mycroft and Greg," he said, wiping his hands on the towel he was holding.

"Mrs. Hudson sends her love; her hip is bothering her and she's not feeling too well," Mary said as she handed a box to Molly. Any other words she may have said were drowned in a sudden uproarious shout of laughter. John was on his knees on the floor, pointing at Sherlock's apron. "Molly..._please_ tell me you did this. Oh, sweet Christ, I love you," the doctor gasped, crying because he was laughing so hard; Molly joined in. "Yes, I got it for him. I thought it was...appropriate," she said, grinning cheekily at her husband. Sherlock looked down at his black apron that read "Deduce the Cook" in bold, block white letters, staring very nonplussed at John. "Honestly," he huffed, rolling his eyes and kissing Mary on the cheek. "You're looking quite well."

Molly started as the doorbell rang again. "Oh, that must be Greg and Mycroft," she said, turning to the door and opening it, greeting the DI and the politician with warm smiles and embraces. Mycroft arched a brow at his younger brother's choice of culinary protective gear. "Ah, Molly...you're looking radiant," he said, pressing a quick peck to her cheek and smiling down at her and her bulging belly. Molly beamed up at him. "Thank you, Mycroft! Well, come in, come in! It's too cold to be on the doorstep," she said.

Greg was next, greeting her and handing her a bottle of very posh sparkling cider. "Since you aren't drinking-" he explained before seeing Sherlock. In less than five seconds he had joined John on the floor, beating the floorboards with his fist. Sherlock turned on his heel, grumbling "Children," under his breath as he went to set out the rest of dinner. Molly thanked Greg and walked carefully around the two men who were supporting each other, laughing fit to burst. She took the coats and the sparkling cider, setting the bottle down and hanging the coats up. Soon, it was time for dinner; everyone was seated around the table and Molly looked to Sherlock, smiling. Time for their announcement.

Sherlock stood just as he had five months before, taking Molly's hand but not making her stand. "At our ultrasound today, we found out that the baby is doing just fine...and that it is a boy."

Molly chimed in; "Benedict Tobias Holmes," she said proudly. There were coo's and applause and murmurs of 'Congratulations' from the two other couples (most of the cooing done on Mary's part). Sherlock beamed at everyone, sitting back down and kissing Molly, looking very pleased with himself. There was general chatter at dinner, but Sherlock found himself watching Lestrade for a good portion of it. Everyone started eating; however, the DI was only picking at his food. Molly furrowed her brow, worried for the man, until he took a sip of water, stood and cleared his throat.

"I-I have something I need to say," Greg said, feeling uncertain and nervous, still kicking himself for putting it off this long. Molly's eyebrows went up; she had an idea of what was going to happen. The table went quiet. Mycroft looked up at his lover, an eyebrow raised.

Greg cleared his throat again, flushing bright red before turning to Mycroft. "I'm going to apologize because I know this is late, stupidly late honestly. I can give you my excuse, but I know you already know it and know what I'm going to say, you clever, brilliant, amazing man." Reaching in his pocket and getting down on one knee, their friends as witnesses, Greg Lestrade opened the box and said, "Mycroft Holmes, will you marry me?"

Mycroft's eyes went wide as he took the ring (gold band, their initials engraved in it and their dating anniversary) and put it on his right hand. Throwing the 'Ice Man' persona completely out the window, he grabbed Gregory and kissed him soundly, letting him know exactly what his answer was. There was a stunned silence for a moment, then wild applause and cries of "Congratulations!" and the sound of a nose being blown into a handkerchief. Greg squeaked as Mycroft grabbed him and kissed him passionately but he soon relaxed in his lover's arms and kissed back with everything he had, hands in the man's hair as he slowly forgot how to breathe. Sherlock clapped with the rest of them, clamping down on his tongue with his teeth at first, but in the end he couldn't resist, "Get a room!"

Molly lightly hit Sherlock's arm. However, she wasn't expecting what happened next. Finally breaking the kiss for air, Mycroft looked over at his little brother. "Oh, sod off, Sherly," he drawled before diving back in to kiss Greg again. This brought rounds of laughter from John, Mary and Molly, and a stunned silence from the detective.

Greg only had time to blink and inhale before Mycroft was snogging him senseless once more, a smirk on his lips this time as he imagined Sherlock's stunned expression. Feeling particularly cheekily, Greg straddled Mycroft in the chair, flipping Sherlock the bird as he invaded Mycroft's mouth with his tongue. This made Molly laugh harder. However, her laughter trailed off as they continued to kiss. "Ah...gentlemen..._Breathe_." she called.

Sherlock chuckled darkly. "Their ears don't work with their tongues in each other's mouths," he quipped, taking another bite of food. Mycroft broke the kiss, panting but grinning from ear to ear, resting his forehead against Greg's. He had known Sherlock was going to make some asinine comment at dinner (he always did) and had prepared sufficient retaliation long before. The doorbell rang. "Sherlock, could you go get that?" Molly asked him. Sherlock grumbled but did, heading for the door and opening it.

Molly jumped as she heard a high-pitched shriek come from the foyer. Moving as fast as her growing bulk would allow, she ran to Sherlock, Mary, John and Greg hot on her heels with Mycroft sauntering slowly behind. Sherlock was literally almost climbing the walls, eyes wide and unblinking as he looked at the front porch and stared down a Weeping Angel, its face frozen in a hideous snarl, fangs bared, clawed hands outstretched. "Mycroft!" Molly scolded, rounding to face the eldest Holmes child.

Sherlock couldn't speak until the others came in the room. "Back!" he hissed, throwing himself in front of Molly until he heard Mycroft sniggering. The fear evaporated, and he slowly turned to face his brother, positively seething. "You-utter-pompous-_prat_!"

John _lost_ it. He was clinging to Mary for support as he howled with laughter. "Oh God...the Weeping Angels...Mycroft...you're a sadistic bastard and I love you for it..." the doctor gasped.

Molly turned again to admire the statue, but it was gone. "Ah...where'd it go...?"

Distracted, Sherlock rounded on John before blanching at Molly's words. "What?" He spun around and the statue was indeed gone from the porch. His eyes darted everywhere, logical mind unable to break through the haze of fear and confusion

John's laughter abruptly stopped. "Wait...it's gone...but..." he turned pale and swallowed hard. He knew that Mycroft worked for the government. The thing was...just how much _did_ he know?

Sherlock felt slightly better and slightly worse at John's reaction. Even Greg felt the blood drain from his face. "Myc-"

There was a snort...a strangled gasp. Then Mycroft Holmes was doubled over, laughing, tears streaming down his face. "You should...have seen...your face! And that _scream_! I really _should_ call you Shirley now!" he gasped.

That did it. Sherlock tackled his brother, slamming him into the wall. "You PRAT!" he roared. Molly sent Greg a look that said "I'll fetch mine, you fetch yours" as they went to go do damage control, but John beat them to it. The doctor stepped between the two fighting siblings. "Enough!" he boomed, using his military voice.

Sherlock jumped, snapping to attention and giving Mycroft enough time to poke him in the ribs. The detective snarled and was about to punch him when John caught his wrist. Molly glared at Sherlock, then at Mycroft. "Honestly, you two. You're grown men!" she hissed.

Sherlock was about to retort but Molly and John silenced him. Greg pulled Mycroft away from the detective, punching him lightly in the shoulder. "You big git," he groaned. "Cut him some slack for once."

Mycroft rolled his eyes but relented. He would do as his Gregory asked...because that's what Lestrade was now..._his_ Gregory.

"There," Greg said, kissing his cheek. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

The older Holmes huffed. "Actually, it was...but for you, anything," murmured the politician.

"Prat." Greg leaned up and kissed him. "If you try that back at our house, I'll lock you up."

Mycroft smiled into the kiss and returned it, crossing off 'Angel At Greg's Door' from his list. As much as he loved to tease, he didn't really want to scare him too badly. Sherlock was trying to tug his wrist from John's grasp, but the doctor was having none of it.

"I'll only let you go if you promise not to hit your brother," John lectured his friend sternly. Molly snorted; he really sounded like a dad. Then again, Sherlock and Mycroft _were_ acting like children. Sherlock struggled for another few seconds before relenting, sagging slightly in defeat. "_Fine_," he muttered.

John nodded and released him, crossing his arms over his chest and raising an eyebrow, making sure Sherlock kept his word. Molly walked over and wrapped her arms around her husband. "I'm sure it'll turn up, don't worry," she said, trying to reassure him (even though she still was a little shaken herself. The Weeping Angels were just from the show...weren't they?). Sherlock fought his panic again, glaring at Mycroft who was..."Oh for the love of science," he groaned.

Mycroft and Greg were currently wrapped up in each other in another rather heated snogging session. Molly's eyebrows went up and everyone just sort of...stood there, awkwardly, not knowing whether they should say something or not. Finally, when they came up for air, Mycroft looked at the group and cleared his throat. "I'm afraid that my fiancé and I are going to be leaving early tonight," he said, his voice a little rougher than usual. Molly grinned and nodded.

"Congratulations again," she said as the men quickly got their coats.

Sherlock showed them to the door. "I won't forget this, _Mycey_," he hissed, shutting the door behind the two men and turning back to John, Mary, and Molly, clearing his throat. "Well..."

Molly looked at Mary. "So, you're farther along than I am...do you know the gender of the baby?" she asked John's wife. Mary nodded. "I do but John doesn't"

John looked at his wife. "You do? But...wha-?" he spluttered. Then he beamed, placing a hand on Mary's belly. "Boy or girl?" he murmured softly.

"You said you wanted to be surprised."

"I am surprised! And now I want to know," he said.

Mary looked at him shyly. "Girl."

John's face split into a wide grin. He looked somewhat silly, but he didn't care; he bent to his wife's belly and started talking to it. "Hello sweetheart...my beautiful girl...daddy's here," he said, hearing Molly coo in the background and Sherlock scoff. John straightened, flushing slightly. "Well, at least we have a girl's name all picked out. Meredith Grace Watson," he said, beaming.

"Since you didn't know the gender, I assuming you also had a boy's name as well? Covering all eventualities?" Sherlock said, scoffing to cover up his flush and own pampering of their boy; he _had_ given a private recital for the growing baby after all.

"Oh, yes! If we had a girl, her name would have been Gabrielle Angela. What would your baby's name have been if it was a boy?" Molly asked. John's face went completely crimson and he muttered something that no one could really catch. "I'm sorry, what?" Molly said, not sure she had heard him correctly. John cleared his throat. "Nathaniel Sherlock..." he said, tugging at his shirt collar.

Sherlock's mouth fell open, his face flushing a deep crimson. He knew he'd heard John correctly but he couldn't believe it, but it _was_ John, so sentimental. "You-you were going to partially name your child _after me_?" he whispered.

John nodded. "You're my best friend, after all," he said quietly.

In two strides Sherlock had yanked John into a crushing hug, knocking the wind out of the blushing doctor. "I'm honored to call you my friend."

John huffed as Sherlock squeezed all the air out of him, but returned the hug, smiling. Molly had to dash away tears as she grinned, sniffling into her handkerchief. With a final squeeze, Sherlock released his friend before he fainted from lack of oxygen. "Shall we finish dinner now that the drama queens have left?"

There was a murmur of agreement as they made their way back to the dining room. The rest of the meal went smoothly, much laughter had as John and Sherlock told stories about various cases they had together. Molly and Mary swapped pregnancy stories, talking about their various cravings and what worked (or didn't work) when they felt particularly down. Finally, it was nearly midnight. "Well, we have to get home," John said as they got up to leave, getting their coats (and the overnight bag that he had brought; with Mary's due date getting ever closer, it never hurt to be prepared). "Thank you so much for coming!" Molly said, giving John and Mary both huge hugs and big kisses on the cheek, smiling.

"No, stay! You shouldn't have to go home so late, and we have more than enough guest rooms. Please, I insist."

Both of them blinked. "Well, why not!" said Mary, grinning. Molly laughed as Sherlock looked all the world like an excited child as he rushed off to make sure that the guest room was set up for them. Sherlock chose the room opposite his and Molly's, throwing fresh towels in the guest bathroom and turning down the bed for them before coming back to the foyer. "Follow me."

John and Mary did as they were asked and settled in for the night with 'thank you's' and 'goodnight's' and 'Sherlock you git if you steal my socks I _will_ hunt you down's' (this from John). Molly sighed happily as she got ready for bed, snuggling under the blankets.

John's words made him chuckle and Sherlock decided to steal a single sock, waiting until the couple was happily asleep before snitching it, putting it at John's place at the table instead of his napkin before heading back up to Molly, changing into his blue pajama bottoms and crawling into bed.

_**A/N: Everything seems to happen over dinner, doesn't it? But it is so much more fun that way.**_


	18. Chapter 16

Chapter 16: Delivery

_2 Months later..._

Molly and Mary were enjoying tea on the porch while their husbands talked. It was a gorgeous day in early June and everything was going well when Mary set down her teacup and winced. Molly looked at her. "Mary, are you all right?" she asked. Mary held up her hand and had a look of concentration for a moment before wincing again, a few minutes later. She looked confused, then her eyes went wide. "Ah...Molly, could you go get my husband, please?" she said calmly. Molly looked perplexed...and then it hit her. She got up and moved as quickly as her bulk would allow. "John...ah...Mary is in labor," she said, keeping her voice calm.

John's eyes went wide in his head. "She's WHAT?" he said, looking faint. "But she's early!" Molly and Sherlock both went to support him. "It's all right! She'll be fine!" Molly reassured. However, a sudden call from Mary made the poor doctor even more frantic. "John...my water broke. We need to get to the delivery room!" John looked like he was about to faint. Sherlock tugged at John's arm, dragging him into the house. "Come on, soldier, your wife needs you. We'll be there the whole time."

John snapped to attention when he heard 'soldier.' This was no time to be faint; his Mary needed him. They all got into the car (Sherlock drove John's so they would have it when they got the green light to go home) and raced to the hospital. Mary was practicing her Lamaze breathing, and John was holding her hand as Molly drove. "Deep breaths, love," Molly said.

"That's what she's doing!" John snapped back.

Molly raised an eyebrow. "I was talking about you. You look like you're ready to pass out," she said. John had the grace to look sheepish and apologize. Sherlock got there first, rushing in and grabbing the paperwork for John as he, Molly, and Mary followed, Mary starting to sweat.

"Ow ow ow ow ow ow OW" Mary hissed as a particularly strong contraction hit her, gritting her teeth as sweat started to form on her brow. They were ushered into a delivery room, forcing Molly and Sherlock to sit in the waiting area as Mary had a checkup. Sherlock began to pace. Molly had to stifle a smile; if he were this antsy when John's baby was being born, he'd be a _wreck_ when her due date came along. Sherlock did his best to breath slowly, trying to stay calm but this was _John_ he was worried about...and Mary too, he had to admit. He glanced alternately between the door and his wife, unable to hold still.

She went over and held his hand. "Relax; Mary and John are in good hands," she said, reassuring him. The wait was long, hours and hours as Mary strained and pushed and John was in and out of the delivery room, looking as white as a sheet. Finally, Molly heard a triumphant shout and a -thud-. She couldn't stop Sherlock from running down the hallway and bursting into the delivery room. Mary was holding a squalling little girl, still slick from the womb, and John was on the floor, staring at the ceiling, a dazed smile on his face. "He just sort of...fell over," the woman in the bed said tiredly as she looked from her husband to her child. "Congratulations, Mary. And John. She's beautiful," Molly said as she looked at the small family.

Sherlock helped the doctor to his feet as the baby cried loudly, covered in bodily fluids. The woman looked exhausted but radiant. The detective looked over his friend, making sure he was completely fine before whispering, "Good job, soldier, fainting in the delivery room, very classy." He grinned at John, nudging him over to Mary and the baby...Meredith Grace Watson.

"Shut up...wait 'til it's your turn," John whispered back, before going over to his wife and newborn daughter. There were tears in his eyes. "Oh...oh my God. I'm a dad," he said, his voice broken as he smiled. He looked at his wife, kissing her sweaty brow. "You're amazing. Thank you...thank you so much," he choked. Then he looked at his daughter. "My beautiful, beautiful girl...hullo...I'm your Dad," he said, stroking the mess of light-colored hair that was still plastered wetly to the infant's skull. At that point, Molly and Sherlock were ushered out by the nurses as little Meredith Grace was cleaned and went through all the necessary tests and weighing. Molly dabbed at her eyes, beaming. "I'm so happy for them," she said as they walked down the hallway to go back home. Sherlock hugged from behind, stroking her belly.

"Soon," he murmured. "I'm happy for them too."

Molly sighed happily and grinned. The next two months went by quickly; she worked entirely from home (paperwork, mostly) and they enjoyed visiting John, Mary, and little Meredith. The baby girl had her father's eyes and her mother's mouth, and already seemed to be a daddy's girl; she would stop crying when he picked her up and held her, her little blue eyes focused entirely on him as if her were her entire world.

oOoOo

_2 More Months Later_

The Watsons were over for tea, Sherlock and John talking in the greenhouse, (the Angel had finally turned up several months later much to Sherlock's terror, hidden behind several plants in the greenhouse) and Sherlock was discussing his plans for revenge on his brother, needing John's help. He was planning to wait until Greg and Mycroft went on their honeymoon and was discussing various scenarios when the baby started crying again and John went to calm her down, Sherlock following.

"Shhh, shush shush," John murmured, bouncing the little girl in his arms; the cries turned into soft coos. John held her so that she was looking at Sherlock, and look she did, straight at him, like he was the most fascinating thing in the world. He held out his hand, gently stroking her face with one long, pale finger. "Hello there, little Mer," he whispered, using John's pet name for the baby. "You seem to find me fascinating."

A little hand came up and grabbed Sherlock's finger in a tight grip as the baby brought it to her mouth, gumming toothlessly on it. John chuckled at him. "Well...she does love her Uncle Sherlock," he said, grinning. Sherlock squirmed slightly as the baby sucked his finger until he heard Molly cry out. "Sherlock!"

Molly was talking to Mary when the first real contraction hit. She had been having little ones throughout the morning, but this one...this one grabbed her and _pulled_. "Oh, OW," she gasped, before she realized what was happening. "SHERLOCK!" she called, rising and wincing, shuffling to put her tea in the kitchen sink. He caught John's eye, feeling panic rise in his throat as he extracted his finger from the baby's mouth and flew to the kitchen.

"Ow ow ow..." Molly muttered as another contraction hit. Sherlock came running in, looking panicked and breathless. "Time to go," she said, holding her belly.

He was helping her to the door when her water broke. "JOHN!" he yelled, "Could really use a hand! Or two if you can manage!"

Molly's eyes went wide as she felt a rush of liquid down her legs as her water broke. John came running in, bags in hand, Mary close behind with Meredith in the carrier. "Get in your car...I'll drive you," he said. Sherlock had to remind himself to breathe and not crush Molly's hand as they flew to the hospital. He was determined to keep it together and knew John would help; John always helped.

Molly held Sherlock's hand, breathing deeply and steadily as each contraction hit her. They reached the hospital in record time where she was put in a wheelchair and ushered to the delivery room. John and Mary stayed in the waiting room with Meredith. "Sorry...I can't follow you in," he said apologetically. "Go with your wife. She needs you now."

Sherlock looked panicked as the doctors swept him after his wife. _Here we go_. Molly was getting poked and prodded, her legs up in sitrrups, the labor and delivery nurse was checking her cervix to see how far dilated she was. "Hm...2 centimeters. We have to wait it out for another three, and then you can start pushing!" the nurse said cheerily. Molly groaned. _Waiting_. She just wanted her little boy to be here _now_. After nearly 9 months, she wanted him out. Sherlock came in, looking distinctly pale and very nervous. She gave a smile that was more of a grimace. "C'mere. Hold my hand," she said, reaching for him. He took it, stroking her hand gently, brushing already sweaty hair back from her face. He felt ever so much like a child again, distinctly out of his element and suddenly terrified of fatherhood, worried he wouldn't be any good at it, not like John was with Meredith.

She saw the worry in his face, the panic. "You'll be _fine_, " she said, reassuring him. "And you always have John for help." A contraction, strong and intensely painful, had her gasping and whimpering. "Oh, _ow_. That one hurt," she breathed, her teeth clenched. The delivery nurse bustled over. "Well, if it hurt that much, I think we can give you an epidural now..." she said.

Molly looked over at her. "I could kiss you right now," she said as she was helped into a sitting position. The long needle delivered the anesthetic to her lower back, in between her spinal column discs. Molly breathed a sigh of relief as the pain quickly dulled into something more manageable. Sherlock watched as the medicine took effect, Molly visibly relaxing. John had told him some of what would happen to help prepare him, but as time dragged on, he grew more and more anxious. "I _hate_ waiting," he grumbled as he gave Molly ice chips.

"Tell me about it," she groaned as the nurses came in after about an hour for another checkup. The contractions were getting closer and closer together. "Well...Mrs. Holmes, you're ready to start pushing!" the delivery nurse said brightly. "Oh, FINALLY!" Molly breathed. She pushed, long and steady, groaning with the effort to bring the baby into the world. For hours she pushed. Until at last... "I can see the head! He's crowning! Hoo...a _big_ boy. Two or three more pushes should do it," the delivery nurse said cheerily. Three pushes later and there was a thin wail; Benedict Tobias Holmes was born. Molly sobbed with relief and joy. Her son. _Their_ baby. Their child.

Sherlock thought his hand would break as Molly crushed it in hers, He held on, whispering words of encouragement until he heard it: crying. A rather large, very messy baby with a crown of jet black hair was in the doctor's arms, whisked off for cleaning and the tests after they cut the cord before finally delivering him into Molly's arms. Molly held out her arms as they placed her screaming, naked baby against her chest. The infant, however, stopped screaming when he felt the warmth of his mother, the noises dying to small whimpers. "Hello...oh, hello my beautiful, beautiful boy...my Benedict...welcome to the world," she whispered, stroking his soft skin, his curly black hair, so like his father's. She looked up at Sherlock, tears in her eyes. "Our baby," she said simply, giving him a watery smile.

"Our son." Sherlock started crying as he touched his son's head, and when the boy opened his eyes, the detective gasped: ice blue, piercing and almost calculating, seemingly out of place in such a young face. Molly gasped too; he had his father's eyes and hair, but her mouth and nose. The newborn looked at his mother, seeming to stare right through her (again, like his father) before making little noises and gurgles. Molly held him closer and pressed a kiss to her son's forehead.

"I'll go tell John," Sherlock whispered, stumbling from the delivery room to the waiting room. John stood as he saw a very dazed, very pale Sherlock stumbling towards him in the waiting room where he and Mary and Meredith had been for _hours_. "Sherlock...Sherlock, is everything all right?" he said, his face worried as he went to support his friend, who's knees looked about ready to give out.

"A boy...Benedict...my eyes...everything's fine."

The short doctor beamed as he sat Sherlock in a chair. "Congratulations, mate! Welcome to fatherhood."

Sherlock grinned through his tears, exhaling loudly and relaxing into the chair. "Need to get back to Molly..."

John nodded. "Go. We'll see you in a few days...call us when you're ready for visitors," he said.

Sherlock wandered back to the room where Molly was almost asleep, the baby unconscious in her arms, already grasping her finger and holding tight. He sat down and stroked the dark curls on the boy's head. "Benedict Tobias Holmes," he murmured, smiling. "Welcome to the world, my son."


	19. Chapter 17

Chapter 17: Deductions

_6 years later..._

Sherlock came home early from work, Lestrade having practically booted him from the Yard. "You're having everyone over for dinner you ninny, go help your wife with your son!"

Molly beamed as little Benedict sat in the window in the living room, his face pressed to the glass as he watched his father come up the steps to the house before bounding to the front door. "Daddydaddydaddydaddy!" the six-year-old boy yelled with glee as Sherlock opened the door. Sherlock beamed, closing the door behind him and scooping the boy up into his arms. "Well, hello there. Smudging up the windows again?" He smiled at Molly as she came to greet him, kissing her on the cheek. "Hello, love."

Molly smiled. "Hello, my dearest," she said, returning the kiss. Benedict wrinkled his nose in disgust at his parents' show of affection. That mushy stuff was _gross_. Feeling left out, he tugged on his father's collar. "Catch any bad guys at work?"

Sherlock chuckled, nuzzling the boy's nose with his own. "Lots before Uncle Greg made me come home to _you_." He poked the boy lightly in the stomach, making him giggle. Then Benedict cocked his head to the side, wrinkling his forehead. "You were in the garbage today," he said. Molly raised an eyebrow as her son continued. "You smell funny. And there's an eggshell on your sleeve." At that, _both_ of her eyebrows went up. Following in his father's footsteps. Sherlock's eyes widened. "And _how_ did you figure that out?"

The boy plucked the bit of shell from his father's coat sleeve. "I observed," he said, shrugging. Molly had to clap a hand to her mouth to stop laughter from escaping. It was so utterly _Sherlock_ that it was like watching him hold a miniature of himself. Except that her husband was completely shocked.

"Where did you learn to do that, Benny? I don't remember teaching you..." Sherlock glanced at Molly, not sure whether to smile or look scared. No more secrets in this household for sure. Ben rolled his eyes. "I _observed_," he said again.

"I guess he learned by watching you," Molly elaborated.

"All right then, Benny. I don't suppose you'd mind giving your Daddy another demonstration?" If the child was anything like him, he wouldn't be able to resist showing off. Ben grinned, his chance to shine. "Uncle Greg and Uncle Myc's anniversary is soon, circled in red on the calendar. I heard you and Mummy talking; Uncle Greg wants a baby, but Uncle Myc is scared...why?" he asked, his brow furrowing again. "I want a cousin. Or a baby brother or sister," he continued.

Sherlock kissed the boy's cheek, laughing as he sat him down on the counter in the kitchen. "Well...Uncle Greg and Uncle Myc are talking about having a boy, but Uncle Myc is worried he'll be like your grandfather; he was not a nice man to me or to your uncle. And I'm sure you want a cousin. Goodness knows we can't separate you and Meredith."

The boy nodded. "Meredith is fun to play with, even if she is a _girl_," he said, wrinkling his nose again. "Am I gonna get a brother or sister?" he asked, still focused on that. Molly flushed and went back to the cooking; leave it to her precocious child to ask that.

"Your Mummy and I haven't decided. You are quite a handful as it is, young man." Sherlock looked at Molly. "Seven-thirty for dinner, yes? So everyone should be here in the next ten minutes, half an hour early as always."

Molly nodded. "Mrs. Hudson called; she may be a bit late tonight. Her hip again," she said. Benedict ran off to play with his toys; he had just gotten a Lego set and was eagerly building all sorts of things; he was working on a replica of the pyramids. Once the boy was out of the room, Sherlock pulled Molly away from the asparagus for one moment long enough to kiss her deeply, pulling away when she wrinkled her nose. "Suppose I should shower quickly, huh?"

"Benny wasn't lying when he said you smelled funny," she said. He grinned. "Back in a flash"

Molly hummed as she worked in the kitchen, moving easily through it as she checked on the food. There was a leg of lamb roasting in the oven, with carrots and potatoes in the pan with it. A nice wine was chilling in the refrigerator, and all that was left was for the guests to arrive (and Sherlock to shower). Sherlock took a fast shower, applying Molly's favorite cologne of his before leaving the bathroom in his towel only to see... "Benny! _Why_ are you building the pyramids in your Mummy's and my bed?"

Benedict pouted. "Because if my playroom is in China, I can't build the pyramids _there_," he said. This clearly made perfect sense to him. Sherlock laughed, rumpling the boy's hair and going into his closet to change, soon emerging in clean trousers and buttoning up his purple shirt.

"Mummy really likes that shirt on you," the boy said as he watched his father button it up the front.

"Oh?"

"Mhm. She looks and looks and looks at you...like...like she wants to eat you up! Is Mummy a monster?" the boy asked, his brow furrowing, worried that his mother really _would_ eat his father.

Sherlock snorted loudly, sitting next to his son on the bed. "No, Mummy is _not_ a monster. And as for the look, well, I'll tell you when you're older. Fair enough?"

Benedict nodded. "Fair," he said.

"Now, go wash up for dinner," Sherlock said as the bell rang. "Meredith is here when you're done." Deny it all he wanted, Benny liked the girl. Ben's eyes brightened, and he took off to the bathroom like a shot, taking great care in washing his hands and face.

oOoOo

Molly went to the door; it was John, Mary, and Meredith. "Hey! So glad to see you!" she exclaimed, giving hugs to the couple. "Aunt Molly!" squealed the little girl. "Hello, sweetie," Molly said, bending down to swoop her into a hug.

Sherlock was halfway down the stairs when a clean and slightly damp Benny jumped on his back, trying to play horsie. Laughing, the detective came downstairs with the six-year-old on his back, swinging him into his arms and whispering in his ear, "Now, why don't you go show Uncle John your new trick, hmm? I think you'll like his reaction."

Benedict grinned as his father set him down. He ran over to John and Mary. "Uncle John, Uncle John!" he yelled, launching himself at the shorter man, who laughed and caught the boy, swinging him around. "Hey, Benny!" John grinned. "Uncle John, I have something to show you..." Benedict said. He looked hard at John for a moment before launching into a first-class deduction. "You had a patient today who wasn't nice, threw something at you...a bottle of med-cine. It splashed on the wall and you got some on your shirt," he said, beaming.

Sherlock's grin widened as John looked like he might faint. "How-when did you-" He looked at Sherlock who now thought he might laugh. "Dear God, there are _two_ of you now," he groaned, hugging the boy. Molly laughed outright. "He takes after his father in more ways than one," she said gleefully. A timer went off. "Oh! That's the pasta done; the kids can eat first, I know they must be hungry," she called over her shoulder as she ran to get the food.

Sherlock took a turn with Meredith, giving her a kiss on the cheek as she grabbed his finger in her tiny hands. "And how are _you_ today, little angel?"

Meredith grinned. "Uncle Sherly!" she said, wrapping her arms around his neck. " 'M fine!"

He beamed, kissing the top of her head as he set her down. "Why don't you and Benny go get dinner? I think Molly has it all ready for you." He finally turned to Mary and John as the kids ran to the kitchen, hugging them both and exchanging pleasantries.

Molly served the children their food, watching them as they ate the spaghetti and light sauce with gusto. When they were done, she helped them wash up and sent them off to play. She was just cleaning up their dishes when the doorbell rang and Mycroft and Greg walked in. Sherlock was setting the table, so John let the men in. "Long time no see, Lestrade," the detective teased.

Greg rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Shut up...Sherly," he said, giving his brother-in-law a playful smile as he used his hated nickname. Sherlock punched his arm. "You better watch it you you'll take another Swiss chocolate bath in bed," Sherlock whispered, grinning. (1)

Molly caught what her husband said, snickering. She couldn't exactly say that she condoned the prank, but she had to admit...it had been _hilarious_. "Greg, Mycroft! So glad you could make it," she said.

"Evening, Molly," Lestrade smiled, hugging her and handing her a bottle of wine, their traditional gift.

"Oh, that looks lovely, thanks!" she said, taking it from them. Her eyes widened as she recognized the label; it was one of the bottles from hers and Sherlock's honeymoon in Switzerland. "Thank you, thank you so much!" she said, giving both of them a hug. Sherlock noticed the gesture, grudgingly thanking his brother and leading John and Mary into the dining room, the others following.

The dinner went well; everyone enjoyed it, laughing and talking, sharing stories about work. Mary regaled them with a story about John's day at the clinic (Benedict had been right; a crotchety old man had thrown a bottle of medicine at him) which had everyone laughing. Molly told Greg and Mycroft about Ben's talent. Greg echoed what John had said; "Oh dear _God_...there are TWO of him now!" which made Sherlock laugh uproariously. They were enjoying themselves and Sherlock was serving dessert when the children came tearing back in, running around the table, clearly playing tag

"You're iiiiiiiiit!" called Benedict as he tore around a corner.

"Not fair! You're too fast!" wailed Meredith, close behind him.

"Children, what have I told you about running in the house?" Molly said sternly. They both came to a screeching halt. "Sorry, Mummy/Aunt Molly" they chorused, looking quite put-out. "If you want to go play, play in the playroom, please. Benedict, why don't you show Meredith your Great Wall of China?" she suggested, grinning. Benedict's eyes went wide; he had nearly forgotten! He dragged the girl off, his black curls bouncing and her blond hair streaming behind her.

Sherlock and John caught each other's gazes, bursting into laughter as the children tore off. "Careful John, She'll break Benny's heart someday," Sherlock teased.

"Not if he breaks hers first; he's all she talks about," John said, raising an eyebrow. Molly sighed and broke into a wide smile. That would be...lovely, interesting and lovely if their children grew up and fell in love and then had children of their own.

Lestrade chuckled, leaning his head on Mycroft's shoulder. "What do you think, Myc? Do you think they'll end up together? Join the Watson and Holmes families for good?" He was slightly teasing but also slightly serious. Mycroft sniffed. "Far too early to tell," he stated. However, in his heart of hearts, he wanted the same thing he read on Molly's face. It was rather silly of him, but he supposed he had developed enough sentiment after being married to Greg for nearly six years that he could allow small flights of fancy.

"What about us? Will we have a child to join in the fun?"

Mycroft bit his lip. Greg had been asking that for six years. And each time he had asked, Mycroft was adamant; No. He didn't want to end up like his own father, a cold drunk, uncaring to the lives of his children and spouse, but seeing Sherlock with Benedict, it gave him hope. And they certainly weren't getting any younger. He took a deep breath and turned to his husband. "Yes."

Lestrade gasped, eyes wide. "Oh my god, _really_?"

Mycroft smiled. "I don't see why not...I...I want a child of our own, Gregory," he said softly.

Greg threw himself at Mycroft, kissing him passionately and grinning like an idiot. "Thank you," he breathed. Molly beamed as Gregory and Mycroft kissed. "Looks like you're going to become an uncle for real," she murmured to Sherlock.

Sherlock shook his head. "_Another_ child running around. We don't have to worry, though. Lestrade will spoil that child rotten." He heard yelling upstairs. "Better go see what they are doing."

Molly walked upstairs to deal with the yelling. She opened the door to see Benedict kneeling on the floor next to a crushed section of his wall and Meredith crossing her arms and pouting. "Muuuuuum, she broke my wall!" Benedict said.

"I was being Godzilla!" she huffed.

"Meredith Grace Watson! You apologize," Molly said.

"But he said I couldn't be Godzilla 'cause I'm a girl!" she said petulantly.

Molly raised an eyebrow. "Benedict, a girl can be whatever she wants; even if it is Godzilla. But Meredith, that doesn't mean you can just destroy his wall. Hse spent a long time on that," she said.

Meredith hung her head, looking over at Benedict. "Sorry, Benny," she mumbled, scuffing the floor with her shoe. Benedict stood and straightened his shirt, nodding once. "'Cept your apology," he said. Meredith threw her arms around him, giving him a hug. "Thanks."

Benny blinked before hugging her as well. "You're welcome. Mer.. you're...you're my bestest friend, y'know that?" he said. Molly had to physically restrain herself from saying 'Awwwww!' at the little scene in front of her. Mer was beaming. "Wanna go bug Uncle Myc?"

Benedict grinned and nodded. "The game is on!" he said as Meredith led the way.

Meredith grabbed his hand and dragged him down to the dining room and sneaking up on Uncle Greg and Uncle Myc who were still kissing. Mer made a face at Benny who wrinkled his nose. "Bleugh...kissing. Mummy and Dad do it _all_ the time. Do your mummy and daddy do it too?" he whispered.

She nodded. "It's icky. Wanna scare 'em?"

Benny grinned wickedly, an almost carbon copy of his father's grin. "_Yes_." he said. The pair crept on quiet feet behind the happily oblivious couple. Ben counted to three on his fingers to give Mer the signal. Mer took a deep breath with Ben and they bellowed at the top of their voices, "UNCLE MYC!"

Greg and Mycroft jumped, clicking their teeth together as the yell from the two children startled them. "Benedict Tobias Holmes!" Mycroft snapped, and little Ben blanched. Middle name...Mummy and Daddy only ever used his middle name if he were in serious trouble.

Meredith grabbed Benny's hand. "Leave 'im alone, Uncle Mycey! It was my idea."

Mycroft glared at both of them, then sighed. If he was going to be a father, then he might as well start getting into practice. "What you did was rude," he said. "Apologize."

"Sorry," Meredith muttered, squeezing Benny's hand so that he knew to do the same.

"Sorry, Uncle Myc. Sorry, Uncle Greg," he muttered, eyes downcast.

"You both are forgiven," said Mycroft magnanimously. A light gleamed in his eyes. "Although, it would be quite funny if you did that to your father," he said to Benedict, earning him an elbow in the ribs from Greg, who then told the boy that no, he shouldn't do that to his father either. Mycroft scowled as the children ran off. "You spoil all my fun," he huffed at Greg, who rolled his eyes.

Mer followed Benny. "Are we gonna do it to Uncle Sherly?"

Ben bit his lip. "No...Daddy likes kissing Mummy. He'd get cross with me. And Daddy cross is scary," he said. Then he looked around and whispered into Mer's ear. "But _Mummy_ getting cross is scarier. Even Daddy is scared when Mummy is angry!"

Mer giggled. "Really? I think my Daddy cross is scarier than Mummy. He's so much taller than her."

"Well so is my Daddy! But Mummy gets all quiet..."

"Daddy get's scary and all soldier-y, but Mummy can always tell him off."

"I think it's part of the superhero powers that Mummy's have," he said. Meredith giggled, suddenly hugging him again. "We are bestest friends, right?"

Ben hugged her back. "Well, yeah," he said, a little confused. He had told her as much earlier.

"Good." She beamed at him and tagged him on the nose. "You're it!"

"Not fair!" he said, running after her.

"Is tooo!" She called back, running to the greenhouse and hiding.

Benedict huffed. He saw Meredith run into the greenhouse. She was going to make him find her...she _always _did this. He tried flicking on the light; it wouldn't go. "Mer? Mer, come out, this isn't part of tag," he said. There was no answer. He swallowed hard. It was getting dark and he didn't like it. "Mer, c'mon...it's getting dark out," he called, wandering from the path to search among the greenery. He finally found her, hiding behind a large potted plant. "Got you!" he said, triumphant.

"Yay, Benny!" she crowed, beaming.

"Let's go exploring!" he said, shuffling farther into the greenery. She enthusiastically agreed. It got darker and darker, until suddenly, Meredith bumped into something. Benedict helped her up and went to go see what it was; both of them screamed.

Molly was talking with John and Mary when something inside of her twinged; she hadn't heard Meredith or Benedict in quite some time. The quiet was then broken by the shrill screams of children and she felt her face go pale. "My baby," she breathed, and she was out of there like a shot, putting an Olympic sprinter to shame with the speed that she moved. Sherlock was hot on her heels, tearing after her as they ran for the greenhouse. He could hear John behind him, panting as the detective fumbled for the light switch, finally getting the lights to flip on

Like a heat seeking missile, Molly found the children. They were standing, frozen with fear, still screaming in front of the Weeping Angel statue. She enveloped them in her arms, bringing their faces to her chest to block out the frightening visage in front of them. The screaming stopped and Meredith began to wail, crying frantically. Benedict was shaking like a leaf. "Shh...shhh, it's all right, I've got you," she whispered to them both. She was going to _murder_ Sherlock...

Sherlock rushed out to find them cowering at the base of the statue. He helped pry Meredith from Molly and handed her to John who saw what had terrified them. "Bloody hell, mate. I thought you'd gotten rid of that." He started to work on soothing his daughter, calming her down.

"Yes, I thought he had too," Molly said quietly, glaring at Sherlock as their son trembled in her arms. Sherlock reached for Ben, picking him up and holding him tight, the sight of the Angel making his own stomach turn. He knew he could try to blame Mycroft (who hadn't come running, hmmmm) but that Molly would not take that for an answer.

Molly marched out of the greenhouse and back into the dining room. It was so quiet that one could have heard a pin drop. "Oooh, someone is in the dog house," Greg murmured to Mycroft as he watched Sherlock walk in, carrying a frightened Benedict and followed shortly by John with Meredith. Molly explained what had happened to Mary, who was just relieved that the children were unharmed.

Mycroft covered his mouth to keep from laughing out loud, Greg elbowing him hard in the ribs. "You two nimrods will be the death of each other," he grumbled.

"Not my fault he chose to keep the damned thing," Mycroft said, snickering.

John had managed to calm Meredith down and went to hand her to Mary, but the girl had an iron grip on her father's jumper. He sat in his chair, still holding her and kissing her head. Benedict started crying now, the shock wearing off. "Mummy...I want Mummy," he wailed. Molly took him from Sherlock and held him close, like she had when her son was a baby. "Shh...I'm here, Ben, I'm here. Mummy's got you," she murmured softly, stroking his dark curls.

Sherlock sat in his chair, maintaining a calm facade but really properly scared of what Molly would do after everyone had gone. He reached over occasionally to stroke his son's head but otherwise sat there and drained the rest of his glass of wine.

"I think we should get going; it's late as it is," Mary said, after she finally managed to prise Meredith away from John. Molly nodded and walked them to the door, bidding them goodbyes and apologizing for the fright. It was waved off and forgiven. Mycroft and Greg stayed for another half-hour before they, too, decided to leave, leaving Sherlock and Molly alone together, and Molly was _not_ pleased.

Sherlock cleaned up everything from dinner as his wife put Benny to bed, finally coming up when he'd scrubbed the dishes within an inch of their lives. Molly had put her pajamas on already and was settled down herself. Sherlock finally came upstairs, looking apprehensive.

"Molly, look I'm sorry-"

She didn't say anything. She merely looked at him. He had _told_ her that he had gotten rid of the statue. She wanted it gone for _exactly_ this reason. He trailed off, reading everything in her face.

"I'll be back."

He went back down to the greenhouse, moving the statue with some effort out of the house and into the garage, placing a tarp over it until he could give it back to Mycroft, the first thing for the next day. He came back upstairs. "I'll make sure Mycroft will get it tomorrow."

She nodded once before she lay down, back to him. He changed into his pajama bottoms before sneaking over to check on Benny. The boy seemed to be all right, but Sherlock noticed his hand clenched tightly on the blankets. He went in, stroking the boy's hair and comforting him with whispers until he relaxed. Satisfied, Sherlock went back to his own room, getting into bed and lying flat on his back

Molly was asleep by the time Sherlock finally came to bed. She curled into his warmth, her anger forgotten in sleep. He wrapped his arm around her. "I'm sorry, Rose," he whispered; he didn't sleep at all that night.

_(1)- This is a reference to the practical joke Sherlock planned after Mycroft's prank with the Angel the night Greg proposed. The full prank will be found in Putting Us Back Together: The Lost Chapters...to be published after this fic is completed._


	20. Chapter 18

Chapter 18: Date

_10 years later..._

Meredith looked at the clock and sighed, then paced some more. It felt like seven p.m. would never get here. "Okay...keep calm...it's just a...a date. With Ben. Ben that you've been friends with since you were babies," she said to herself. Ben: curly-haired, blue-eyed, tall, brilliant Benedict. Who was absolutely _gorgeous_. Meredith didn't know when her friendship began leaning towards romantic feelings. All that she knew was that whenever she thought about him or saw him round a corner, her heart flew up into her throat, her stomach filled with butterflies, and she started to stammer over her words like an idiot. She thought that if she had _a_ date...ONE date...with Ben, she'd be fine. She'd be cured! Right...?

oOoOo

Ben was furious. His father had insisted on driving him to Mer's house even though he'd been practically every day since he was born. He pulled at the tie around the neck of the purple shirt he wore, a match to his father's. "So, I have to wear this?" He had a bouquet of red tulips in his lap. Sherlock looked over at his son. "I hate them too, so no. Now that we've left, you can take it off."

The teen grinned. "Good." He ripped it off and threw it in the back seat

oOoOo

Mer heard the car pull up the drive, and there came that damned fluttering in her stomach again. She checked her appearance in the reflection: blue dress and jumper-shrug over it was fine, as well as the shoes.

"You look beautiful, sweetheart," Mary said, reassuring her daughter. She hadn't been at all surprised when Meredith came home one day, confused about possible romantic feelings for Benedict. The two had been inseparable as children.

"Thanks, Mum," Meredith said. She peeked out the window as Ben got out of the car and her jaw nearly dropped. He looked amazing; he was wearing a purple button-down shirt that was nearly criminally tight, and black jeans. She swallowed hard as her heartbeat sped up. _Just a date, just a date, just a date_, she kept repeating in her head to help calm her. It wasn't working. She jumped as the doorbell rang.

Ben stood there, swiftly unbuttoning the top two buttons on his shirt, finally able to breathe. His heart was drumming out a tattoo in his chest when Meredith opened the door.

"Hullo, Ben," she said a bit breathlessly, smiling. _Oh God...he had even unbuttoned his shirt a little._ She stood to one side to let him in.

"Hey, Mer." His voice cracked and he cursed mentally. One glance told him a thousand things about her except for why his palms had started to sweat and he couldn't think properly. He handed her the flowers. "These are for you."

Her eyes widened as he handed her a bouquet of bright red tulips, her favorite. "Oh, thank you! They're lovely," she said, beaming.

"I'll put those in a vase for you," said Mary, taking the flowers from her daughter. Meredith jumped; she had forgotten her mother was there. Mary went off into the kitchen, trying hard not to laugh; it was so painfully awkward that it was adorable. Ben turned to where his father was standing. "So, I get the car and you're staying here until we come back, right? Mum's joining you and Uncle John and Aunt Mary for dinner, yes?" He'd never gotten out of the habit of calling John and Mary his aunt and uncle.

Meredith smiled as Ben ran down the plans with his father, her 'Uncle' Sherlock almost rolling his eyes before he reassured his son that yes, that _was_ the plan. Ben shook his head at his father's eye roll, hesitantly offering Meredith his arm. "Shall we?"

She took a deep breath. Now or never. "We shall," she said, taking his arm, feeling an electric thrill go through her as she felt the warmth of his skin under his shirt as they walked to the car. He opened the door for her before getting in the driver's seat. "So, dinner and a film."

She nodded. "Yep! Any idea what you want to see or where you want to eat?" she asked him, fiddling nervously with the hem of her dress (it came just below her knees.)

He glanced over, blushing slightly. "Ah, was thinking Speedy's for a quick bite and then the cinema for "The Giver." (1)

She smiled. "That sounds like an excellent plan," she said. "Lay on, MacDuff."

"And damned be him that cries 'Hold, enough.'" (2)

She grinned. Leave it to Ben to know the rest of the quote. They were in the literature club together, and they nearly drove everyone else mad by finishing up each other's quotes. They chatted the rest of the way to the restaurant, Ben glancing down Baker Street as they went in to the little cafe. "Our fathers used to live here, did you know that?"

She nodded enthusiastically. "Dad would tell me stories of the cases he and Uncle Sherly would do. I think the one that was my favorite was when they met that Adler woman. That was when your dad actually _apologized_. Well, according to _my_ dad," she said. She knew that Sherlock was notorious for not apologizing; the only person he ever did it to (or for) was Aunt Molly or her own father.

"Mummy loves that story. It was the first time he ever kissed her, before he faked his death for three years. She helped him do it, you know."

Meredith nodded. Her dad didn't really like to talk about those three years. "Did you ever ask her how?" she wondered out loud. Ben nodded, waiting to answer until he had ordered for them, their drinks coming first. "He landed in this red bus full of recycling and Goodwill things. Mummy was waiting and gave him something to slow his heart and covered him with fake blood. His homeless network delayed Uncle John getting there, making him bump his head to make it harder to focus on the body."

She took a sip of her drink, watching him raptly as he spoke. "And then he didn't see her for _three years_? Wow. Your mum is patient," she said, gaining a newfound respect for her Aunt Molly. "Right, enough about our parents; we see enough of them as it is. So...ah...thank you, for the...the date," she stammered, hating herself for it. He flushed. "You're welcome. I-I didn't know if you would say yes." He had been able to deduce her answer once the question had left his mouth, but before then...no clue.

She blushed even brighter than he did, taking another sip of her drink. "Of _course_ I'd say yes, you prawn," she muttered softly.

"Who are you calling a prawn, you scaredy cat?"

"Scaredy cat? And what, pray tell, am I scared of?" she asked, her eyes flashing.

"Statues."

"Hey, _you_ jump whenever you're around them too," she said, pointing at him. He _had_ to bring that up... the time when they were six and found that statue in his greenhouse...she was never comfortable around stone sculptures again.

"But you scream," he teased, thanking the waiter as he brought their food.

"That was only that one other time, and it was dark. _You_ pushed me into it! Not my fault that it was only propped up and that it broke," she muttered. They had been walking with a group of school friends through a cemetery during Halloween, and Benedict had thought it to be a _marvelous_ idea to push her into one of the angel statues guarding a tomb. The resulting flailing and screaming had toppled the statue from its perch, where it smashed on the unforgiving ground. He giggled at the memory. "You have to admit that was pretty hilarious." He dug into his dinner, smirking at her and giving her a wink across the table. He was far more relaxed now, feeling more like hanging out than a date. She blushed at his wink. "Was not."

"Fine, okay, was not." They finished eating and then went to the cinema, Ben insisting on paying for the tickets; the movie was fairly decent. "Hm. That was...interesting," Meredith said as they walked back to the car, mulling over the details of the film in her head.

"It's one of my favorite books, but they didn't do it nearly enough justice."

She smiled. "Isn't that almost always the case with books made into films?" she said.

He sighed, opening the car door for her. "Unfortunate, but true. With the exception of the Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit. I always thought Bilbo looked very much like your Dad, don't you?"

She nodded vigorously. "I know! And Smaug _sounded_ like your dad!" she said, laughing slightly as she sat in the car and buckled her seatbelt. (3)

He chuckled. "Indeed, even down to the low rumble he gets when sleepy or angry."

She smiled at him, a companionable silence filling the car as they made the journey back to Mary and John's house. "Well, this is me," Meredith said unnecessarily as they pulled to a stop.

Ben parked the car and took off his seatbelt, sighing. "Yeah, I guess it is."

She got out of the car and stood there, not wanting to go up to the porch of her house just yet. "Well...thank you again. I had a lovely time," she said. He grinned a little shyly. "It really was. I-I like you, Mer. I really like you."

She could feel her face glow crimson. "Oh! I...I...ah...I really like you too, Ben," she said softly, grinning herself. He stepped closer, uncertainly putting one hand on her waist, the other on her cheek. "Can-could I-"

Her eyes went wide. "Yes," she breathed. He leaned in, watching her before closing his eyes and pressing his lips to hers. Her eyes shut, and she felt like she had been struck by lightning and had swallowed the sun all at the same time; everything was glowing and very, very hot. It was a chaste, close-mouthed kiss, and it was her first. And it was perfect.

He felt her kiss him back gently, and his heart nearly stopped. He kissed her twice more before pulling away, his ice blue eyes staring into her ocean blue ones. When they finally stopped, she looked into his eyes. They were wide and just as confused as hers. Good, so she wasn't alone in that. "Doyouwanttobemyboyfriend?" she blurted out in a rush, feeling her cheeks burn.

He blushed as well. "Yes, if you'll have me," he said, giving her his cocky smile. She grinned and leaned in and kissed him again, feeling her heart sing with joy. Benedict, her best friend. Her _boyfriend_. Just wait 'til they told their parents...

He was surprised when she kissed him again, but he pulled her close and kissed her back, dipping her slightly. She had to wrap her arms around his neck as he dipped her and took her by surprise. Then, both of their mobiles buzzed with a text message.

_Date over, if convenient. If inconvenient, date over anyway. -SH (4)_

Ben groaned very loudly, glancing up in time to see the curtains twitch. "Oh Jesus, they _all_ saw that."

oOoOo

Sherlock sent off the text, determined to end the kissing before it went too far, dodging out of sight before Ben could see him. "They'll be right in."

"They'd better," said John, a dark scowl on his face. He still saw his daughter as five years old, with pigtails and a jumper that said "I love Dad" on it. Seeing her on a date with his best friend's son (and knowing that they really did hit it off and were now exclusive) meant that he had to accept the fact that his little girl was growing up.

"Calm down," Sherlock muttered as the door opened and the kids came in. They held hands as they walked in, letting their parents deduce for themselves what was going on now, how things had changed, how things _were_ changing. "Congratulations," Mary said, beaming at her daughter.

Sherlock looked at his son, knowing he'd have to talk with him soon. John was glowering at him a bit. "John, honestly, _relax_," Sherlock hissed. John took a deep breath. Sherlock was right...as usual. And anyway, he knew that Ben was a good kid. He smiled, a genuine smile because his little girl was happy. "Congratulations," he murmured, echoing his wife.

"Don't I get congratulations?" Ben teased, slipping his hand from Mer's to wrap around her waist.

"Mind your hands, boy," John barked, his military training coming back. Ben jumped, letting go of Mer and stepping away, John looking scary.

"_Daddy_," Meredith said, somewhat embarrassed. John glared at Benedict once more. "Sorry, Ben," she said.

"No, I-I should probably get going anyhow. Night, Mer." He pecked her cheek before scampering to the car. "Mum, Dad, come _on_!" he called over his shoulder.

Molly sighed. "Sorry, Mer...I'll be sure to talk with Ben about your dad," she said. Meredith nodded. Mary was looking at John, none too pleased. "John Hamish Watson, there was no need to frighten the poor boy out of his wits!" she said disapprovingly. John opened his mouth to protest, but knew his wife had a point. Sherlock choked back a giggle; even though his boy had been embarrassed, it had still been funny. "I'm sure John was just being a protective father." He stood, embracing his friends. "Goodnight and congratulations, Meredith."

"Thanks, Uncle Sherly," she said.

oOoOo

Sherlock and Molly went to the car where Ben was waiting in the backseat, the keys in the engine for Sherlock to drive home

"So...I'm glad the date went well," Molly said cheekily to her son. She was so glad that they were together. Not only was her boy happy, but she got pleasure out of it as well. Her mate Denise at work owed her a fiver...

"Uncle John scares me. With everything I can deduce about him, I honestly didn't see that one coming." Ben's face was bright red. "I feel rather stupid."

His mother raided an eyebrow at him. "Well, you _were_ getting rather touchy. And Meredith is his daughter; he's very protective of her. She'll always be his little girl, in his eyes. Just like to me, you'll always be the little boy running around starkers in the hallways," she said, her eyes growing misty with the fond memories of his infancy and toddlerhood.

"Moooooooooom," Ben groaned. "_Please_ tell me that is not your favorite memory of me."

"Certainly not, but you were _so_ cute," she said. Sherlock pulled into their garage, parking the car. "So, you have a girlfriend now. Do we need to have a talk?"

Ben rolled his eyes. "Please, Dad, I already know everything you're going to say."

"Don't roll your eyes at your father. And are you sure? I mean, as much as I love you both, I don't want to be a grandmum yet. And John would kill you," she stated, matter-of-factly.

"Mum. I. Am. Not. Going. To. Sleep. With. Meredith."

oOoOo

"Daddy, I can't believe you did that!" Meredith huffed, feeling embarrassed and slightly angry. She'd be lucky if Ben still wanted to date her after tha; she knew that her dad was 'Uncle John', but this was the first time that Benedict had ever been really _scared_ of him.

"He was all over you," John said through slightly clenched teeth. "I don't like seeing him so grabby, not with my baby girl."

Mary sighed. "Go upstairs, sweetheart. I'll talk to your father," she said to Meredith quietly. Time for some damage control/putting her husband to rights. She watched as her daughter stomped upstairs and closed the door a little louder than usual. "John...you were a little too harsh with the boy. I mean, it's _Benedict_. They've been friends since-since they were in utero!" she said, vouching for her daughter's beau.

John shook his head. "Mary, I have to protect her. He's still a _boy_! He wants what all boys want, and I'll be damned if that happens to my baby girl."

"I understand, John. But you can't keep her in those pigtails forever; she has to grow up, get her feet wet, as it were," she said. John's face pinkened slightly. "Get her feet wet? Is that what they call it now?"

Mary rolled her eyes. "You know what I meant! And not _that_. Benedict isn't like all the other boys, you know that. I mean, look at his father! He's...honorable," she said, that being the only word she could really come up with.

John snorted. "Sherlock raised the boy well, but he had a great deal of help from Molly. The boy has his father's gift of deduction. I've been on the snub end of it...so have you! I don't want her hurt because he says something rude and can't understand."

"John. Think. They've been friends for _how_ long now? He's probably made every single deduction about her that he possibly can," she said.

"I still don't like it."

At that, Mary crossed her arms. "Well, tough. Meredith is happy, ecstatically so. Unless you missed how much she was smiling when she walked into the house. They'll be _fine_." she said, trying to lay to rest any remaining doubts in her husband's mind.

John relented. "Fine, then, but I want to talk to that boy."

Mary nodded and smiled. "I would have expected as much."

"I'll take him for coffee after school tomorrow."

"Tell Molly first, though."

"Oh, don't worry. Go on up and say goodnight. I'll call her right now."

Mary nodded again. She went up to Meredith's room and knocked on the door. There was a sullen "Come in" from inside. Mary opened the door and sat on the bed next to her daughter, who was pouting. "Sweetie; I've talked to your father. You realize why he did that, don't you? It's because he loves you, and he wants to be sure that you're all right, that you're being treated the way you deserve," she said. Meredith sulked a little longer but nodded. "I just wish he didn't have to scare Ben like that," she said.

Mary smiled at her. "It's his job to rough up your boyfriends a little bit. It's how he's still able to protect you."

Meredith sighed. "I guess. Just...make sure he doesn't rough Ben up too badly?" she asked.

"I will do everything I can. I promise. So, how was the date?"

Mer's eyes went dreamy. "It was wonderful," she said, in a faraway voice. Mary chuckled softly. "Where did you go? What did you do? I haven't seen you this happy since, I don't even know when."

"We went to Speedy's and had a bite, swapped stories for a bit. Then we went to a film; it was all right, nothing too stellar. And then we came back here and...and...well...we kissed," Mer said, blushing to the roots of her hair.

"We know. Sherlock practically had his nose plastered to the window, and I thought John was going to punch him. You guys had a bit of an audience, I'm afraid."

Meredith nodded. "I know. We got a text from Uncle Sherly," she said, showing her mum the phone. Mary saw it and started laughing. "He sent a text like this to your father during their first case. He made him come all the way across London to Baker Street to send a text to a murder."

Meredith's eyes went wide. "Really?"

"Really. Your father saved Sherlock's life that night."

Mer felt distinctly proud of her father then, and then felt a little guilty for having shouted at him.

"He loves you and I'm sure he'll be-" Mary turned as John knocked on the door. She kissed her daughter on the forehead and left, squeezing her husband on the shoulder on the way by.

John walked in and sat on his daughter's bed, looking at her, really seeing the fine young woman she had grown into. As much as he hated to admit it, she really wasn't the little girl with the pigtails and the jumper that matched his anymore. Mer looked at him. "I'm sorry I yelled before."

He sighed. "And I'm sorry I was...sharp with Benedict," he said. _No, I'm not_, he thought, though. "I just want to be sure he's treating you the way you deserve to be treated, not like those animals you go to school with," he said, scowling.

"Daddy, please. I have _standards_."

At that, John had to laugh out loud. Out of the mouths of babes... "Thank God for that," he said, smiling. He leaned in and placed a kiss against his daughter's forehead. "Goodnight, sweetie," he said fondly.

"Night, Daddy. And go easy on Ben. I-I really like him and I don't want you to scare him off."

He sighed. "I'll do my best."

"Thank you." She hugged him around the neck like she used to. "I love you."

He blinked and hugged her back, suddenly feeling a little choked up. _Where had all the time gone?_ "I love you too."

Mer let him go, watching him shut the door behind him before turning off her lights, her nightlight casting stars on the ceiling of her room. She stared up at the stars, still feeling Ben's lips on hers; she fell asleep with a smile on her face.

_(1)- I tried to pick a book I'd love to see done well as a film...also one that's not out right now._

_(2)- Act 5 Scene 2 of Macbeth by Shakespeare_

_(3)- We had to. And we regret nothing._

_(4)- See number 3_


	21. Chapter 19

Chapter 19: Just Like Their Parents

_The next day..._

Ben met Mer by her locker at the end of the school day, taking her hand and kissing it. "I had a lovely time last night."

She blushed. "I did too," she said shyly.

He grinned, bringing one hand to her cheek. "Mind if I kiss you again?"

"Not. At. All," she said, half-smiling.

He leaned in, and kissed her gently, grinning and wrapping his free arm around her shoulders. She pressed back, eagerly, resting her free hand on his chest. She could feel his heartbeat speed up under her hand, and it made hers do the same.

Hesitantly, he licked her lips, wondering at the texture against his tongue. Meredith started as she felt the slight touch of Benedict's tongue against her lips. She was curious as well. Feeling bold she opened her lips and hesitantly touched her tongue to his. Oh. _Oh_. That was...that was _nice_. She could really see what all the fuss was about.

Ben gasped softly. _Oh wow_. Carefully, he stroked her tongue with his, letting his wander into her mouth. Before either one really knew what was happening, they were full-blown French kissing in the hallway in front of her locker. Finally, she had to break for air. Mer looked at him, her eyes wide, breathing hard. "Ah...I...I need to get going," she said apologetically. "See you tomorrow?"

He was wearing a similar expression. "Yeah," he murmured. "Tomorrow. Definitely."

Meredith had to giggle as he stumbled ever so slightly as he walked off. She knew she must have looked like an idiot, but she didn't care. She would be more than happy to end every school day just like that.

oOoOo

John stood in the parking lot of the school, leaned up against his car. He saw Benedict (he would be able to recognize that curly mop of hair anywhere...just like his father's) and raised a hand to hail him. Ben was on Cloud Nine as he left the building, but the sight of the ex-army doctor was enough to make him feel slightly sick. He changed direction and slowly walked to him, quickly wiping Mer's lip gloss off his face.

John had to smile slightly as he saw Ben go pale. At least the boy knew that John was someone to be afraid of. Good. "Ben! So good to see you! Get in, I'm taking you out for coffee," he said, opening the passenger-side door for the boy. Ben obeyed, scared of what would happen if he didn't. He put his seatbelt on as John drove away, taking him to the Starbucks a few blocks from school.

John ordered them some coffee. While they sipped at it, he looked at the boy. "Ben, I've known you since before you were born. I've watched you grow up into the fine young man you are today, and I'm proud of you," he said, carefully. "I know your parents raised you right. You're a damn sight better than most of the young men you go to school with, another thing I'm proud of. I know you'll treat my Meredith with all the love and respect she deserves, not rushing her, not pressuring her, not _forcing_ her. And let me make this abundantly clear," he said, his voice growing a bit sharper. "While I am a doctor, I do have my bad days. Don't make me have a bad day," he said, letting the words speak for themselves.

Ben was clutching his cup like a security blanket, his knuckles actually going white at the last bit. He'd heard from his father about John's "bad days"; it was one of his favorite stories from the detective years, but now, now he was scared and his heart was pounding against his ribs. He knew this was "The Talk." He was getting _the talk_.

John felt guilty as he saw the boy's knuckles turn white and his eyes go as wide as dinner plates with fear. He sighed. "I'm just...I want to be sure Meredith is all right," he said to the boy. Ben nodded. "I'll take good care of her, sir," he said, his voice cracking slightly.

John smiled broadly and clapped his best friend's son on the shoulder. "Good lad," he said.

Ben fought to keep from shaking. "Thank you," he said, nodding and draining his cup.

oOoOo

Meredith started as she heard the doorbell ring. Benedict wasn't due to take her out for another fifteen minutes. But, knowing him as she did, he liked to be early. She smiled; they had been dating for three weeks, and she was loving every second. She opened the door and grinned at her boyfriend. "Come in! Dad and Mum aren't home yet, we can go into the sitting room," she said as she moved aside so he could cross the threshold.

"They won't mind that we're home alone?" Ben walked in as she shut the door behind him.

"Not if we're in the sitting room," she said as she walked over and sat down on the couch. She looked up at him; he was looking gorgeous...as usual.

He smirked at her, sitting next to his lovely girlfriend and laying his arm behind her on the couch. She snuggled into him, laying her head on his shoulder. She smiled, her _boyfriend_. He kissed her temple, his hand going to her shoulder and squeezing. "You know, there's something I want to try. Mind helping me out?"

She nodded. "Sure," she said.

He tipped her head up so that he was looking down into her eyes. Giving her his half-smile, he closed the distance and kissed her.

She felt goose bumps rise on her skin as she sighed into the kiss and wrapped her arms around his neck. _This was what he needed help with? Any. Time_.

He pulled her a little closer, slipping his tongue past her lips, humming her favorite tune in the back of his throat. She gasped as his tongue entered her mouth and he started humming "Here Comes The Sun"...almost classical music, but she didn't care, it was her favorite. Her tongue met his and gently twined with it. He kept humming as he stroked the roof of her mouth and the ridge just behind her teeth, both arms holding her close now; she was almost in his lap.

She felt like her body was slowly catching fire. He kept humming as he kissed her, holding her closer, wanting _more_. But then... "BENEDICT TOBIAS HOLMES AND MEREDITH GRACE WATSON! _WHAT_ DO YOU _THINK_ YOU ARE DOING?" Oh _no_. Her dad was home.

Ben jumped, pulling back with a slight set pop, face flushed bright red as he turned slowly and met the very livid face of John Watson, M.D. "G-good evening, Uncle John."

John was livid. His best friend's son was snogging his daughter. _Snogging_ her. He was about to rant and rave at them both but took three deep breaths, forced himself to remember the time _his_ mum caught him doing the same thing and how he felt. He swallowed hard. "Just...please make sure your hands are where I can see them at all times," he said after a long moment to compose himself.

Ben pulled his hands away from Meredith, placing them in his lap. "Better?"

John nodded curtly before he turned on his heel and left. The less he knew now, the better; it would save his blood pressure and his nerves, not to mention his daughter's happiness. Ben glanced at Meredith, mortified. "That. Was. _Embarrassing_."

She was just as red as he was. "Well...he didn't kill you," she offered helpfully, still quite surprised at how calmly her father took the situation, not counting the original yelling.

"He still might. I don't want to go anywhere on my own in your house tonight."

She laughed. "That's probably a wise choice," she said.

He chuckled weakly. "Damn. I was really enjoying myself." He suddenly paled. "What if your Dad follows us? Although, come to think of it, that sounds more like _my_ Dad than yours."

She scowled. "Mum wouldn't let him. I'd _kill_ him," she said, not wanting to entertain the thought of her father chaperoning them on their date.

"Good." Ben exhaled, hesitating before taking her hand, thumb rubbing circles on the back of it. She smiled as he took her hand, gently caressing the skin. "Let's go," she said softly, and they were off.

oOoOo

Ben was enjoying himself with Mer, walking through London holding her hand, window shopping, taking her for ice cream, but something was nagging him, and he kept turning around, finally spotting the corner of a dark coat going into a shop. "Oh, I cannot _believe_ this." John must've told his Dad about the incident, knowing Sherlock would not be able to resist tailing them.

"Hm? What's wrong?" she asked, furrowing her brow as Ben's good mood swiftly vanished as he glared at something she couldn't see. He groaned. "We have a tail, love."

She thrilled at his term of endearment, then blanched. "My dad or yours?" she muttered.

"Who do you think? Mine, the consulting detective."

She gave a long sigh. "So...do we go up to him or try to lose him?" she asked.

"Well, seeing as it was most likely your Dad who set him on our tail and it's impossible to elude him unless..." His eyes sparked, tugging her into the nearest set of stores. "I've got an idea."

Ben dragged Mer through the shops, looking for the right store. "Here. Quick!" He tugged her into the bookstore, weaving through a few of the shelves, finally hiding behind a display. "Shhhh," he whispered, putting his finger to her lips. His Dad came into view seconds later, something clearly distracting him from his avid pursuit.

Mer blinked as Uncle Sherly was distracted; then she saw the sign.

_"Jung's Dream Theroy book, 15% off! Analyze your dreams, amaze your friends!"_

Not only was there a misspelling...she was sure that the detective would talk at length to the sales clerk about _why_ dream theory was rubbish. "You. Are. _Brilliant_." she whispered, kissing Ben on the cheek and grinning. He waited until his father was deep in the argument before grabbing his hand and sneaking her out of the store, breaking into a run when they were several shops down.

She had to stifle a giggle as she ran with him, getting away from his father. This was just too fun. Ben didn't slow down until they were several streets away, finally collapsing against a wall and gasping for air. "So-_that_-just-happened."

She was laughing, beaming brightly. "That was _brilliant_!" she said. Feeling bold, fueled by their 'escape' and to thank him for getting rid of their tracker, she grabbed him by the lapels of his coat. Pulling him to her, she kissed him hard on the mouth. He gasped in surprise, soon melting into her touch and pulling her close, kissing her back just as hard.

She wrapped her arms around his neck as he returned the kiss with fervor, arching into him a little to keep her balance. He back up against the wall, deepening the kiss hesitantly but soon shaking off his fear. They were alone and safe, no fathers stalking them or bursting in on them.

She hummed happily as he deepened the kiss. They were still wrapped up in each other, their tongues twining. Mer moved a hand up and almost hesitantly wrapped her fingers in his hair. He moaned softly into her mouth, his own hands moving to do the same. She felt a shiver run up and down her spine as he followed her example, winding his hand into her blonde hair. Finally, she broke for air, breathing hard, looking into his eyes.

"Wow." It was the only thing he could think, the only thing he could say. He was still holding her head in his hands, her eyes both dark and pale blue.

She laughed breathlessly, before she rested her forehead against his. "Yeah," she said.

He kissed her nose, giggling softly. "Can you imagine what would happen if our Dads saw _that_?"

"I'd be so _dead_," she said.

"You'd be dead? Your father would hang me from the top of the Old Bailey by my shorts."

Mer was still giggling when a sleek black car pulled up in front of where they were standing and the door opened, showing the occupant in the back seat. Meredith blinked. "Is that...is that your _uncle_?" she asked Ben, looking very confused. Ben paled as Mycroft beckoned to them. "Jesus Christ, I can't catch a _break_ today," he groaned. "Come on, we'd better do as he says." The two kids got in the car, sitting across from the British Government

Mycroft had to bite back a smile as he saw the pale-faced teens sit in the car. "Oh, do relax," he said lightly. "I have no intention of scolding either of you. In fact, do carry on; it would irritate both of your fathers to no end which is an extremely attractive idea to me."

Ben stared at his uncle. "You do realize that if either of our fathers caught us, we'd be dead, right? Uncle John nearly murdered me earlier today because we were snogging in the sitting room."

The older man scoffed. "My dear nephew, what would _ever_ make you think that I'd tell them?" he said, raising an eyebrow.

"So...we could snog in the car right now and be fine?"

Mycroft nodded. "I'll even give you privacy," he said. He hit a button and a partition sprang from the floor, separating him from the two teens. "Don't go _too_ far, though...that's something even I can't condone. Not to mention it would ruin the upholstery," he said through the partition, allowing himself a half-smile as he could practically _hear_ them blush. Ben had never been redder in his life as he glanced at his girlfriend. "Guess we have a ride home now."

Mer brought him closer to her, silently thankful for the barrier between them and Ben's uncle. It was also nice to be uninterrupted...of a sort.

Ben leaned in. "So we have to hit up Uncle Myc if we want to snog from now on?"

She made a face. "I...I hope not. Not that I don't appreciate what he's doing, but I don't want to bother him just because we want to snog. I mean, I think we just have to be a little more creative with our planning and timing," she said.

"He could probably help. He does have access to every security camera in the city."

Meredith blinked. "Just...what exactly does your uncle do?" she asked, a bit faint. She knew that Mycroft was important, but..._how_ important was he?

"He's the British Government. I don't know anything other than that."

Her eyebrows went up. "All...right. Okay. So. Cameras...guess we can see if he can find out if either of our dads are tailing us when we're out on dates," she said.

"_Exactly._"

She smiled before leaning in even closer, her lips just inches away from his. "Good," she breathed, before closing the distance between them. He accepted the kiss, letting her back him up against the side of the car. She pressed forward, only stopping when he hit the door. She gently slid her tongue out of her mouth and tentatively touched his lips with it, tasting them.

He opened his mouth eagerly, anxious to French with her and not be interrupted. She had to breathe out a laugh as he eagerly responded, his tongue twining with hers. The kiss was hot and wet and wonderful, and she felt rather lightheaded because of it. He pulled her closer, his hands threading in her hair, moaning as he felt her tooth on his lip, nicking him.

Mer shivered lightly as ben put his hands through her hair and pulled back when she accidentally caught her teeth on his lower lip. She heard him moan, a sound (she thought) of pain. "I'm sorry!" she said breathlessly, worried that she had hurt him.

"No-don't worry-it was actually good." He grinned at her to show he was fine. Her eyes went wide and dark. "_Oh_." she said. She moved her head in to his again, taking his lips in another kiss. This time, she nipped him deliberately, before feeling like she had been too rough again. She swiped her tongue over the perceived injury, hesitating a little more to gauge his reaction.

He shivered under her, eyes rolling back in his head, his head resting against the door of the car. "God, Mer..."

She knew her eyes must have been dark with passion. She moved in for one more kiss; one that she would make him feel to his toes; one that would make him feel the way she felt around him. Ben completely forgot to breathe; he couldn't get Mer close enough as she kissed him. His eyes were shut tight, just feeling out all of the sensations. He moaned a little louder, knowing how it drove her crazy until he realized he was going to pass out. He broke the kiss, gulping lungfuls of air and glancing at the girl, knowing he must look just as flushed as she was, lips just as swollen.

She made a noise in her throat as he moaned; the sound drove her wild. She forgot about breathing, focused entirely on him. It wasn't until he broke the kiss that she realized that her vision had gone dark around the edges. She panted, half-glancing at him, seeing his flushed face and swollen lips, knowing that she must look the same. A thrill of want went through her, so powerful that it scared her a little bit.

He glanced down as he realized his trousers weren't fitting right...and blushed crimson. "Ah, right. Uh, Uncle Myc, you wouldn't have water, would you?"

Mycroft had to bite his lip very hard to keep from laughing as he rolled down the partition and passed a bottle of water to his nephew. They were nearing their destination anyway, so he figured he should at least make sure they got to Meredith's house all right. Ben downed the bottle in three gulps, forcing himself to think about cadavers, homework, his stupid gym teacher, sighing in relief when the strain vanished. "Sorry 'bout that," he muttered, glancing at Meredith.

She squirmed slightly in her seat. "Ah...it's all right," she said, feeling distinctly shy, her cheeks flushing pink. Ben glanced up, groaning. "Guess the date's over." As if right on cue, their phones went off, but it wasn't Sherlock this time

_Both of you in the house. Now. -MW_

Mer's eyes widened. _Mum_? Ben shook his head. "It never ends." They said thanks to Mycroft and clambered out of the car, holding hands up the walk and heading in to the sitting room. It wasn't Mary.

Mer's face went white. Her father was sitting in the living room, looking very stern. He began to speak, his tone quiet and firm. "So; both of you just decided to run around London. That was sincerely very stupid. Ben, I expected better from you. Meredith, I thought you'd at least stick to the places you both knew. I should be absolutely furious. But..." and here, he let the smallest of smiles show on his face, "you managed to give your father the slip. Very good idea, getting him into that bookstore and figuring that he'd argue with that salesclerk. Bravo indeed!" he finished.

Ben didn't know whether to be ashamed or proud. "Uh, thank you?" he said, glancing at Mer and slowly letting go of her hand, squeezing it gently first. Here, Jon's face really did break out into a wide grin. "You're welcome. Just...don't let it happen again, or I'll make you take a break from seeing each other outside of school," he said. Mer breathed a sigh of relief. The last thing she wanted was to be banned from seeing Ben as punishment.

Ben nodded, letting his arms drop to his sides. "Then please don't set Dad on our tail. I know you were upset before, but that was low."

John raised an eyebrow. He could see his pseudo-nephew's point of view. "Fair enough. I owe you an apology, Ben. Sorry," he said, holding out his hand to shake. Ben took John's hand. "I accept your apology."

The older man smiled. "Thank you. Now...time for you to get home; it's late," he said. Meredith walked her boyfriend to the door. "Goodnight, sweet prince," she murmured before she leaned in to press one last kiss against his mouth. He kissed her back quickly. "Nymph in thy orisons be all my sins remembered," he murmured before heading back outside, Mycroft's car still there to take him home. (2)

_(1)- Macbeth, Act V, Scene ii, the start of the fight between Macbeth and Macduff_

_(2)-Hamlet Act 3 Scene 1, the end of the To Be or Not To Be speech_


	22. Chapter 20

Chapter 20: Permission

_4 Years Later..._

Ben was pacing in the sitting room. "They're late!"

Meredith smiled and sighed. "Ben, it's only a minute past six-thirty. Our parents work, as do Uncle Greg and Uncle Myc. Not to mention they have to pick Archie up from school for the holiday," she gently reminded him.

Ben sighed. "I know. It's just-this is the first Christmas we aren't all having at Dad's house and, I'm nervous about it, you know?"

She went over to him, kissing him on the cheek to reassure him. "Everything will be _fine_. Deep breaths, love," she said. He tried, glancing back at the table that was practically groaning under the weight of all the food. "I'm glad we have everyone drop their dishes off yesterday."

Mer nodded. "We don't have to worry about cooking, one less nightmare for us to handle," she said. There was a knock on the door. "Oh! That must be them!" she said excitedly. Ben ran to the door, greeting his parents happily. Molly and Sherlock looked very well and happy, streaks of silver starting to creep into the dark curls at Sherlock's temples.

"Aunt Molly! Uncle Sherlock! So good to see you," Mer said, beaming, giving both of them enormous embraces. She really missed them while she was at uni studying medicine, just like her father. John and Mary were right behind them, a few new wrinkles and lines here and there. John gave Ben his customary glare before embracing the boy and clapping him on the back.

Mer gave her father a silent look, one that said 'leave him alone, we've been dating for nearly four years now and he's been the most perfect gentleman so _stop glaring_.'

"Sorry dear. Old habits." John wrapped his daughter in a bear hug, kissing the top of her head. She squealed as her father wrapped her into a bear hug which she returned. She missed her parents something awful when she was away at school. Mycroft, Greg, and 14-year-old Archie were next and were greeted with hugs and shouts galore, the whole family finally together.

"Uncle Greg! Uncle Mycroft! Archie! Glad you could make it!" she said, beaming. The small flat was full to bursting with people, the chatter and hum of voices was loud, but it was welcome. Everyone sat down to eat after a short blessing (much to Sherlock's and Mycroft's rolling of eyes). Meredith and Benedict sat next to each other, holding hands underneath the table.

John was helping cut the turkey, so it took him a few minutes to notice. He was sitting directly across from Ben (Mer had done the seating arrangements) and he shot his daughter's boyfriend a look, growling softly. Sherlock grinned and gave his son a proud look. Mycroft rolled his eyes. "Honestly, the pair of you," he said quietly. And he wasn't talking about Mer and Ben, either.

Ben glanced at both men, not sure whether to go with his dad or the man who could make his life miserable. He let go of Mer's hand, resting his on her knee instead, shooting John a very risky smirk before asking for the potatoes. Sherlock had to stifle a round of laughter. His son had clearly inherited his love for dangerous situations. And riling John about his daughter was about as wise as trying to hug a hedgehog.

Ben left his hand there until he thought John was going to bust a capillary. "Relax, Uncle John," he grinned, kissing Mer's cheek and loading up his plate. Meredith slapped Ben lightly on the arm. "Stop goading my father," she hissed at him. The last thing she needed was a row.

He sighed dramatically. "If you _insist_." He grinned at his own father though. Sherlock gave his son a proud nod, wincing as John's elbow caught him in the ribs. Mycroft chuckled at that, hiding the noise behind his napkin. Mary glared at them. "I will separate you two if you can't behave. You're worse than Ben and Meredith were when they were five!"

Sherlock glared at Mary before giving a long-suffering sigh. "All right, fine," he said (though not before taking the chance to elbow John back). Ben burst out laughing, nearly snorting his sip of wine out his nose. Mer had to laugh as well. Watching their parents interact, especially their fathers, was always fun. She secretly thought of them as Consulting five-year-olds even if they didn't work together any more.

oOoOo

Everything calmed down a bit after that, and soon all the couples were holding hands, although Ben was still earning the occasional glare from John, especially once he and Mer laced their fingers together. Dinner was done, coffee and dessert and tea were being served, and everyone was embroiled in their own conversations. No one was really paying attention to them, so Mer decided that it was an all-right time to lean in and steal a kiss from Ben. She didn't care if her dad scowled or not.

Ben wrapped his arms around her neck, kissing her back, sneaking a taste of her tongue before slowly deepening the kiss. She sighed happily into the kiss until it was suddenly broken by a loud -_THWACK_!- and Ben's head was sent forward, rocking into hers a bit. "_Daddy_!" she said, mortified. Her father had just hit her boyfriend upside the head with a rolled-up newspaper. Ben took a deep breath in and out before looking up at John. "Seriously?"

John scowled. "Seriously. You are snogging my daughter at the table," he said, hefting the newspaper as if he thought another thwack with it wouldn't be amiss.

_-THWACK_!- Now it was John's turn to lurch forward as Sherlock howled with laughter, a newspaper in his hand. "Serve you right for whacking my son."

Suddenly, both men were hauled away from the table by their ears, their wives having a good grip on them. Mer listened, her eyebrows going up into her hairline as her mother scolded her father and...put him in the corner, facing the wall. A time-out. Her mother just put her father in _time-out_. Meredith blinked, then positively howled with laughter as she heard Molly do the same to Sherlock. Ben lost it, leaning into Mer and then pounding the table as he howled with laughter. He knew Mycroft was laughing as well and Greg was snapping photos with his mobile.

"They are _never_ going to live this down," she gasped, tears of mirth pouring down her face as she held Ben.

"Ohhhhhh, no. If I don't make sure of it, Uncle Greg will."

"Of course!" she replied, getting her laughter under control. Once the men sheepishly returned from their punishment (Sherlock demanding the photos on Greg's phone be deleted and Greg gleefully telling him exactly what he could go do), the following small talk went on until about 10 at night, when Archie started to nod off, teenager though he was.

Reluctantly, Ben said goodnight to his family, giving his Dad an extra hug before he left and kissing his mom on the cheek. Meredith bid goodnight to her parents as well as they left, and to Greg, Mycroft and Archie.

"Ah...guess I forgot to tell you that I'm staying the night," she said, flushing as they closed the door to Ben's flat.

His eyes widened, glancing at the door. "You wanna say that a little louder? I don't think your Dad heard you."

She smiled. "Dad knows," she said. "Why do you think he was scowling at you even when you _weren't_ holding my hand?"

Ben was shaking his head, trying to wrap his head around what he had just deduced. "Mer-"

She smirked. "I have to go get your Christmas present. Give me about five minutes and then come find me," she murmured to him, going off to get ready. Her heart was pounding wildly in her chest as she took the small bag from her luggage. Oh, she was going to give that boy a heart attack. Ben moved the rest of the dishes to the small kitchen of his flat, counting to three hundred in his head before looking for her. "Mer?"

"In here," she called from his bedroom. She swallowed hard. She could hardly believe she was doing this, but...they had waited for _so long_. And he had been so patient. And she wanted him just as badly as he wanted her. His heart sped up as he pushed open the door to his room, brain suddenly filled with a thousand different scenarios, but none of them were as amazing as what met his eyes.

Meredith was wearing a set of blue lingerie that was covered in ribbons and bows; each of them fully-functioning. If he pulled on the edge of one, it would loosen the knots. Once all the knots were undone; off fell the lingerie. She smiled when she saw his jaw drop. "I...I ah...I couldn't think of anything to get you for Christmas. So I went with what I hope is all right," she said, her face flushing and heart pounding in her chest.

His trousers tightened as he gasped, mouth falling open. Four years of waiting and now..._now_ they were finally going to do it. He walked towards her, eyes taking in every detail. She fidgeted slightly as he just stared. She noted (somewhat smugly) the very prominent bulge in his trousers. The sight of it made her own heart race and her nether regions grow slick. "Well? Aren't you going to unwrap your gift?" she murmured, her lips curling into a smirk.

He glanced at her and swallowed, his face heating before he took control again and gave her what he knew was her favorite half-smile. "Only if you unwrap me."

Her fingers went to his shirt, unbuttoning it to reveal the pale skin underneath. Her fingers trailed down his chest and abdomen before finding the button and zip of his trousers and undoing them, brushing against his arousal. He twitched as her fingers touched him, his own hands coming up to tug at the ribbons on her shoulders. She felt her skin break into goose bumps as the first two ribbons were undone, causing her bodice to come partly undone and fall to crumple over her breasts. She pushed the shirt off of his shoulders, watching it fall to the floor. He touched her shoulders, pulling her close and brushing the blonde hair away from her face. "You are so beautiful," he murmured.

She surveyed his bare torso and abdomen and his undone trousers, her eyes dilated with want. "So are you," she said back. Her hands went to his trousers and pulled them down, watching as they pooled on the floor and he stepped out of them, leaving him in only his pants with a huge erection.

He knew he was flushed but he didn't care. He tugged the ribbons at the front of her bodice, letting the rest of her chest fall free. His fingers brushed over Mer's breasts before they came up to tangle in her hair and he pulled her in for a kiss, hot and heavy, Frenching and remembering (finally) to breathe through his nose. She gasped as her bodice fell away, leaving her only in her panties, and his fingers brushed her bare skin. His hands tangled in her hair as they kissed (remembering to breathe through their noses; no passing out because of kisses!) and this place, for now, was paradise. "God, I want you so bad," she whispered to him.

"I want you too. Are you sure it's okay?"

"We've been waiting for so long," she said, moving closer and pressing herself to him. He groaned, and kissed her again. "Do you have condoms?"

She nodded once more. "Check your side table," she said, breathless.

He scrambled over, nearly tripping as he yanked the drawer open, an entire box in the drawer. He pulled one out and turned back to her. Taking a deep breath, he pulled his pants down and stepped out of them, fighting self-consciousness. She nearly laughed as he scrambled and nearly tripped, but her breath caught in her throat as he slid off his pants. Oh...he was, all of him was...just beautiful, and she said just as much. He saw the look on her face and rolled the condom on, biting his lip as he concentrated on his control. Once it was on, he went back over to her, pulling the rest of the ribbons and watching the fabric fall away. "Beautiful," he whispered.

She flushed. "Bed?" she queried, now that she was bare before him and the both of them were more than ready. He nodded, sitting down and pulling her down next to him, kissing her as they lay down.

She fought to stop from pressing against him and lost miserably. She wanted him, _needed_ him. "Benedict..." she whispered into his ear. "Take me...I'm yours."

He felt his fingers tingling as she spoke, pulling her up on the bed so her head was against the pillows before straddling her. He knew what a big step this was, but at this point the only thing he could think about was how much he wanted her. So, leaning down and kissing her, he pressed in slowly, winding up breaking the kiss as he gasped. She arched into him as he pressed into her, gasping with him and then wincing as he stretched her, not used to the sensation in the slightest. She hissed; it hurt, but she'd get over it. She held him close and still as she acclimated to feeling him _inside_ of her. This was new; new and entirely delicious. She thrust up experimentally as soon as she felt she was ready.

He looked slightly panic as she hissed in pain but before he could ask she shook it off. Then she rocked up wards and he saw stars. "Oh God," he groaned, grinding their hips together, kissing her neck. She moaned deep in her throat, the tender kisses that turned into fierce little bites. She followed suit, giving his shoulder a quick, hard nip as she moved. He was stretching her, and she loved the way it felt. Speaking of feeling; she felt a coil of fire growing and winding tighter in her lower belly.

He sucked at her neck as he moved faster, knowing a little of how it worked, but waking in his room and doing it were two different things. He could feel everything heating up, but there was a stab of fire in his gut before his balls tightened, and he was screaming her name, his thrusts becoming erratic before he collapsed. Finally, when she thought it would go no tighter, it shattered, making her climax with a force that startled her. She screamed Benedict's name, just as he was screaming hers, their thrusts dissolving into excited bucking as they spent themselves on each other. When he was finished, she felt pleasantly crushed under his weight and bulk. He was panting, hair plastered to his forehead as he rolled off of her and disposed of the condom before his brain shut down completely. "Wow," he whispered, eyes staring unfocused at the ceiling.

"Yeah," she panted, agreeing. He grinned, rolling over to face her. She snuggled close to him, sharing his grin, knowing they probably looked idiotic and that they were glowing in post-coital bliss.

He fell asleep soon after, remembering to tug up the covers on his bed before they did so they wouldn't freeze. "I love you," he whispered in her ear. She felt her heart speed up again at his whispered words; the words that they had been careful with. "I love you too," she whispered back.

He smiled and kissed her cheek, holding her close as they fell asleep.

oOoOo

The next morning, Mers woke to the sound of her mobile ringing. She went and answered it. "H'lo?" she said, her voice still rough with sleep.

"You both will be joining your mother and me for lunch."

She swallowed hard. Her father. "Right. Of course," she said. Oh boy. There was no way that her parents didn't know what had happened. This was going to be awkward. _Time to tell Ben_; she winced as she rolled over; she was sore from last night's lovemaking. "Ben...Benedict...love, wake up," she said softly as she shook him awake.

Ben stirred, rubbing his face sleepily before opening his eyes, the blue growing sharper as he remembered the night before. "Morning, doll."

She smiled as he rubbed the last vestiges of sleep from his eyes. "Morning...we're having lunch with my mum and dad. He just called to tell us," she said.

His face drained of blood. "I'm dead."

"No, you're not. Don't worry about it. We're adults. Daddy is going to be civil, I'm sure," she said while secretly hoping that her father _would_ be civil. She snuggled under the covers, getting closer to the warmth of her lover. "It'll be fine," she reassured him (and herself). He held her close, his heart pounding in his chest. "You're Dad's ex-army, and mine won't be there to help keep him in line, to stick up for us like he did last night..."

"Yeah, but my mum will be there and she'll keep him in line for us," she said.

"I hope so." They lay there for a little while longer, Ben just holding Mer.

"I'm starving," he said finally. She laughed. "All right, let's go get some breakfast and then get ready to face the music," she said. She slid out of bed and grabbed the nearest thing to her and shrugged it on. It just so happened to be his shirt. She smiled as she buttoned it up and rolled the sleeves to her elbows; it was over-large on her, and she loved it.

He watched as she put on his purple shirt, grinning broadly. "That's a good color on you."

"Thanks...and the fabric of this shirt is lovely; feels nice," she said, giving a little spin like she was modeling it for him. She walked out of the room and wandered into the kitchen, clattering around to find food for the both of them. He tugged on a pair of pajama bottoms and followed, coming up behind her and pulling her close, pressing her back to his chest. "I love this shirt, and you're right. It's very nice."

She smiled as he pulled her close, feeling the heat of his body through the cloth. She turned in his arms and rested her head on his bare chest, listening to his heartbeat. She sighed happily; everything was just...wonderful. He kissed her head, holding her tight as he looked at the food on the counter. "Leftovers?" he grinned.

She laughed. "Might as well. It's Boxing Day, we can spoil ourselves and have cake for breakfast. Although why your dad insisted on bringing Swiss chocolate cake to dinner is beyond me," she said.

Ben snorted before he started howling, crying tears of laughter. "C-cut us some and I'll tell you why," he gasped. Mer must've taken it when his parents had arrived; it hadn't even been served the night before. She cut them both thick slices of the cake and put coffee on, wanting to hear the story.

Ben took a bite, grinning broadly. "I can't believe you haven't heard this story before. So, when my parents went on their honeymoon to Switzerland, they bought a ton of chocolate and hid it on Uncle Myc's jet. You know how he's always on a diet? Well, Dad always teased him about it when pissed off. Then, when my parents found out I was going to be a boy, they had your parents and Uncle Greg and Uncle Mycroft over for dinner. Uncle Greg proposed that night and they started snogging at the table and Dad was making fun of them. Dad baked a Swiss Chocolate cake for dessert and he and Uncle Myc had a food fight with it."

Mer almost choked on her coffee she was laughing so hard. She could see the image in her head; Sherlock and Mycroft glaring at each other, both of them covered in chocolate cake. "Oh, that must have been priceless," she said between gasps.

"That's why the statue was in the greenhouse the night we got scared. It was Uncle Myc's revenge on Dad."

She shuddered; she still remembered that statue well; it had given her nightmares for nearly a year. "Wait; your dad was scared by the statues?" she said. She could hardly believe it, her Uncle Sherly, the great consulting detective, scared by a statue from a TV show.

"Apparently it was the first episode of the show he ever saw. Of everything he's been through, it terrifies him more than some guy called Moriarty. Well, no, I think Moriarty scares him more, but it's close."

Mer went quiet. She had heard from her father about Moriarty, how the criminal had strapped him to a vest rigged with explosives and Sherlock had saved hm. "Wow," she said softly.

"What's wrong? Did I say something?"

"No, no...it's just...my dad has told me a bit about Moriarty. And from what he's told me, that man was...just...just evil," she said. She could hardly believe that someone would willingly do that to another person, make them a piece in a game for their own sick amusement. Ben nodded. "Dad won't talk about him, just to say that it was that man's fault that he had to fake his death."

She nodded. She had heard that from her father as well, but then he wouldn't say anything more about it. It was clearly something that he didn't like talking about. Ben shook his head. "Let's stop thinking about ghosts from the past. I think your Dad wants us for lunch?"

She sighed. "Right. I suppose we should shower and stuff; we got a little sweaty last night," she said, grinning cheekily.

Ben smirked back. "Race you."

Mer slowly set down her fork and then took off like a shot, squealing and giggling as she heard him pounding behind her. She managed to reach the bathroom first and she shut the door in his face, laughing fit to bust. He ran smack into the door, jiggling the handle when it wouldn't open. "Let me in!"

"What's the magic wooord?" she sang through the door, grinning. She loved teasing him like this.

He groaned, rolling his eyes. "Please let me in."

She paused and then decided to just be difficult. "I'm sorry, 'please' was the magic word _last_ week," she said, holding back laughter. He took a deep breath, growling in his throat. "Wouldn't happen to be _lingerie_, would it?"

She shivered with pleasure when she heard him growl. She opened the door, smirking. "Still not the magic word, but I'll let it slide," she said. He slipped in, shutting the door and pulling her close, lowering his lips to her ear. "What was it, love?"

She let out a breath as he held her close and talked softly into her ear. "You know, I've quite forgotten it," she said.

"Wonder if I can remind you," he purred, scooping her up and carrying her into the shower, turning the water on before either of them had stripped. She gasped as he picked her up and got into the shower. The water hit her, plastering his shirt to her. The fabric clung like a second skin as she looked into his pale blue eyes before pressing a kiss to his sweetly mocking mouth. He kissed her back, making the steam thick as he turned the water on nice and warm, peeling off the fabric from their bodies and dumping the shirt and pajama bottoms on the bathroom floor.

They were both standing under the spray. Mer felt suddenly self-conscious, which was a bit silly. She flushed and lowered her eyes before she tipped her head back, exposing her throat and getting her blonde hair wet. He watched her before getting his own hair wet, shaking out his curls until they were a sopping mess.

Mer giggled and held her hands up as he shook his wet hair, sending water everywhere. She bit her lip and looked up at him. "Can...can I wash your hair?" she asked. She loved to play with his hair; it felt lovely between her fingers. Ben handed her his shampoo, sitting on the floor of the tub to make it easier for her to reach. She laughed as he sat down to make his hair easier to reach. She wasn't very tall, so this helped a lot. She took the shampoo and massaged it into his scalp, working thoroughly. He closed his eyes, still smirking as he leaned into her touch, his hands stroking and massaging her legs. She jumped slightly as he touched her legs, then had to stifle a moan as he worked on them. "You're making it v-very hard to concentrate," she murmured.

His smirk grew wider as he leaned in and kissed her knees. "Oh, I know."

She shuddered, feeling her eyelids flutter shut for a moment. "You're a bad, bad man," she said, with no heat in the words. He growled again, his hands coming up to clutch hers in his hair. "You are quite the temptress yourself."

Oh God. This was going everywhere bad and everywhere good. "Really," she purred as she tugged his hair slightly.

"Ooooooooh yes. Keeping my hands off you, especially since that night in Uncle Myc's car has been so difficult, with your cheeky smile and your deep ocean blue eyes and your blond, golden hair"

She felt herself flushing bright red. "It hasn't been easy for me either," she said. "What with your smoldering grins, the way you touch me and the way you look at me...like...like you want to eat me alive. God, it's maddening," she said, feeling a bit breathless. He stood, swapping with her and washing the soap from his hair. Once it was all gone, he looked down at her as if looking into her. "You mean like this?"

Her knees went decidedly weak. "_Exactly_ like that," she breathed.

He smirked. "_Well then_..."

"I said it before; you're a bad, _bad_ man. And I love you," she said, grinning up at him.

"I love you too." He leaned down and kissed her hard, pulling her close before grabbing the shampoo and working it into her hair. She melted into the kiss, then melted into his touch as he worked the shampoo through her hair. He had strong, talented fingers and they felt so good.

Still kissing Mer, Ben turned her so that her head was under the spray, finally breaking the kiss to wash her hair clean and realizing in the back of his mind that she would smell like him when they were done...and that if he wanted sex again before returning her to her family, they'd have to do it in the shower.

When they finally broke apart to breathe and so he could finish washing her hair, she smiled as she realized that she'd smell like him. That thought made her stomach flip and her entire body grow warm. She bit her lower lip and looked up at him through her eyelashes...she wanted him, but didn't know if they had enough time for a quick round in the shower. She finally decided to say 'sod the timing' and go with it. She moved closer to him, her skin just barely touching his.

He'd never been happier that his Mum had insisted on the no-slip mat for the tub when he'd moved in, but then re remembered that all the condoms were back in his room. _Crap_. "Mer," he whispered, kissing her neck

She felt her eyes roll back in her head as he kissed her neck, then she cursed roundly in her mind as she realized that the condoms were still on his bedside table in his room. _Damn_. Well...there were always other ways they could have fun without him being inside of her. She gently touched his chest, trailing her hands down to wrap her fingers around him, tugging slightly. He gasped, knees buckling, all the blood in his body rushing south. "Oh _God_."

She smirked, feeling naughty. She kissed his shoulder and lightly nipped his collarbone before she squeezed him gently, feeling him harden under her touch.

"More, yeah, oh Meredith," he breathed, putting all his focus on remaining standing. She followed his wishes, stroking him up and down, now squeezing, now pulling, now almost taking her hands away and brushing him with the lightest of touches.

He lowered one of his hands and laced their fingers, helping show her what he liked, so close he could barely stand it, a firmer stroke here, a teasing touch there. With a groan, he finally came, collapsing against the shower wall as his legs threatened to give out. "That was amazing," he whimpered.

She smiled at him, rinsing his release off of her hands and belly. "Good," she purred, watching him recover his breath and his senses. She pressed her legs together; giving him pleasure had turned her on something awful. His hands slipped down, hesitating before touching, stroking, exploring. She gasped as his hand made its way down, his touch light and almost hesitant as he explored. She whimpered as he brushed her folds with those clever fingers, holding on to the walls of the shower for support.

He spread her legs a bit, helping her brace against him to keep from falling before tweaking, moving his fingers faster, loving how her breathing shallowed and she held on tighter. Her hands found a grip on his shoulders to brace herself, her fingernails digging into his skin as he moved faster. Her breath was coming in brief pants and she could feel herself shaking. She moved a hand down to his and guided him, slipping two fingers inside of her. That made her moan as he stretched her, adding slightly to the ache of last night.

He groaned, sliding in and out of her as he worked her pleasure spots. He felt her tensing against him. "Let go," he whispered. At his whisper, she did as he asked. She came, keening his name, shuddering and clamping around him, holding on to him for dear life. He held her up, taking down the showerhead after she finished and rinsing her off, using his soap to help finish cleaning up. "Better?"

She merely nodded, still breathless. "_Wow_," she said, before stretching up to kiss him. He grinned into the kiss, scrubbing them both down one last time before shutting off the water. "Wow indeed."

She stepped out of the shower and dried herself off before stumbling into his room, her legs still wobbly. She dressed quickly, checking the time; it was still a good twenty minutes before they were expected at her parent's house. He came in soon after, deciding he didn't have enough time to shave his stubble and throwing clothes on as he saw the time. "We need to get going."

She nodded, smiling at his stubble. He was usually meticulous about shaving. "Well...let's go," she said, her things with her as she stood by the door to his room, ready to go to her parent's.

"Am I leaving you there?" he asked, grabbing his coat that was a replica of his father's, the one he had as a baby. She sighed. "Yeah. I'd love to stay, but dad would throw a fit," she said, pouting.

He knew he looked sad, but he tried to shake it off. Taking her bags, he led the way from his flat, hailing a cab when they reached the curb. She leaned against him during the quiet cab ride. She could see him thinking, turning something over in his mind. Too soon they were in front of the Watson house. Ben stole a quick kiss from Mer before they got out. "Well, nice knowing you." He could see John in the window of the sitting room, standing at ease but looking stern.

Mer walked in through the front door, holding Ben's hand to reassure him. Her father was looking stern. She sighed; even after all this time, he was still being overprotective.

"So. I know you spent the night. And I wasn't born yesterday, so I know what happened," John said, his voice holding a bite to it. She shifted uneasily. But then, her father's grim expression shifted. It cracked. He started laughing. "God, I'm sorry, Ben...I was just having you on," he said.

Ben had thought his heart was just going to give out, he'd been so scared, and John had looked to stern and angry, but then he started laughing and Ben didn't know what to think. "You're...kidding," he groaned, dropping his head into his hands.

The young man's expression just made John laugh harder. He walked over and gave his pseudo-nephew a hug. "You make her blissfully happy; I can't really be mad at you," he said, affectionately ruffling his dark curls. Ben hugged back confusedly, glancing at Mer who shrugged, clearly fighting to keep her laughter back.

She merely shrugged at her lover, who was looking quite lost. Finally, she couldn't help herself; she doubled over laughing. "That's just...God, the look on your face," she gasped between bouts of mirth. Ben shook his head, rolling his eyes as he disentangled from John, looking from father to daughter. "You really are nuts. The pair of you."

She walked over to Ben, wrapping her arms around him. "Yeah, but that's why you love me," she said, grinning. He kissed her lazily, holding her close and swaying side to side, stealing a few licks of her tongue. John raised an eyebrow and cleared his throat. "While I do respect the fact that both of you are in love, a little decorum wouldn't be amiss," he said.

Ben jumped, pulling back from Mer. "S-sorry."

John smiled. "It's all right; just not while I'm in the room, please," he said, smirking. He could understand perfectly how difficult it was to keep their hands to themselves. In fact, he had gotten an earful from Mary's mum when she had taken him home to meet her for the first time, a little too handsy for her taste.

Ben nodded, taking Mer's hand instead. "Sure thing."

Mary came down. "Oh, Ben! Good to see you!" she said. She looked closer at her daughter; there was the unmistakable glow...as well as something else."Mer, sweetie, can I talk to you for a minute?" she asked. Meredith followed her mother, somewhat confused. "I'm happy for you, I really am. But...ah...you need to cover up," Mary said to her daughter, motioning to the girl's neck. Meredith's eyes went wide. "Oh God...I'm sorry, Mum!" she said, her hands frantically fluttering around her throat, hiding the large bruise that was there. Ben noticed even as John led him to the dining room. He paled; John had to have seen it. It really was a wonder he was still breathing.

Mary and a very brightly flushed Meredith came back a short while later; thank God for coverup. They all sat down to lunch, talking about what they were doing at uni, what classes they planned to take next semester, how quickly the time went by. Ben let his arm just touch Mer's during lunch, careful not to overstep his boundaries and push his luck like had at dinner the night before. He complimented the food several times and managed to make John laugh by telling him that his father had brought a Swiss Chocolate cake they hadn't even gotten to for dinner

"Oh God...I had nearly forgotten about that," John laughed. "Well, I'm glad your dad has kept up his cooking skills. THAT was a night to remember," he said.

"What was it like? All of you there together before we were around?"

John let out a sigh and smiled. "It was...crazy. The best kind of crazy. And it was terrifying as well, but we all turned out all right in the end," he said, reminiscing about the years gone by. Ben glanced at Meredith before looking back at her parents; she really was the best of both of them and he couldn't believe how lucky he was to be in love with her.

Soon lunch was over, and Ben was already planning. He knew what he had to do, but waiting for that part of the plan might very near kill him. As he helped John clear the table and Mer went off with Mary, he asked casually, "So...is there any chance that I could maybe keep Meredith over Christmas?"

John hesitated, but his girl was grown; she was 20 years old and she was a responsible adult. It was time to let her go. He took a deep breath. "Of course; she'd probably be over at yours every day regardless if we let her stay overnight or not," he finally said, giving Ben a smile.

"Really? Thank you!" Ben realized he shouldn't have sounded so eager in front of John, but he couldn't help it. He hugged him anyway; he was _still_ Uncle John. John laughed as Ben sounded like the six-year-old boy who had just found out that he could come over to play. He returned the hug before pulling back and once more ruffling the dark curls of the young man in front of him. "Just don't keep her up too late," he said, winking.

Ben blushed crimson. "O-of course not," he stammered. John had to laugh at Ben's blush. "Go tell her; she'll probably spend an hour agonizing over what to pack," he said between chuckles.

Not waiting another second, Ben tore off to Mer's room, knocking on the door. "You there?"

She opened the door. "Well hello, stranger! Dad didn't lecture you too much, did he?" she asked, her face worried.

"Nope, in fact, you get to spend the rest of break!"

Her eyes widened. "Wha- really? Oh my God! That's great! That's amazing! That's-...oh god, I have to pack," she said, suddenly in a flurry of activity, pulling clothes out of drawers and stuffing them into a bag.

"Woah, slow down whirlwind," Ben laughed, entering her room, still as pink as ever. With difficulty, Mer slowed down, taking more care into what she was packing. She was glad that some of her mates at uni had given her their Christmas gifts early. But she wanted them to be a surprised. "Still house rules; not supposed to be in my room," she said, her lips quirking into a half-smile. He raised an eyebrow, sighing heavily. "_Fine_," he said, leaving her room and heading down to the sitting room, stopping at the piano.

Everything stowed away, she started when she heard the music from the piano. Benedict. Mer smiled; he was an amazing pianist and she loved listening to him play.

He stroked a hand down the keys, testing a few notes: in perfect tune. He sat down and began to play, losing himself in the music as his father did with the violin. The swelling chords and notes soon solidified into "Here Comes the Sun."

Meredith followed the sound, swallowing hard as he played her favorite song. She was able to get right behind him without him noticing. When Benedict played, he lost himself to the music. He looked utterly transported, and she thought that he never looked more gorgeous than when he sat down and coaxed music from the keys.

His eyes were closed as he played, swaying slightly with the music, imagining that he was wrapping Meredith in it. As the song game to an end, she leaned in and wrapped her arms around him, resting her head on his shoulder. "That was beautiful," she murmured into his ear.

He jumped slightly but leaned back against her, tilting his head back for a kiss, unaware that John and Mary had come in towards the end. Mer returned the kiss earnestly; she didn't know that her parents were in the room until she heard a sniffle and started. She looked up to see her mother wiping her eyes and her father looking...a little lost and very proud at the same time.

Ben turned and found a look of approval on John's face. He'd finally earned the man's respect as his daughter's boyfriend. John had to clear his throat. "Right. Well, we've kept you long enough. Go on, out you go. Just...don't forget to come back to visit," he said, his voice getting a little thick at the end. Meredith smiled and gave her father a huge embrace. "Of course I won't, Daddy," she said softly.

Ben shook John's hand. "We'll be back for New Year's Day at my house for sure, wouldn't miss it for the world. And this isn't forever, just a week." _Not yet_, he thought.

"Right. See you New Year's, then!" John said, taking Ben's hand then pulling him in for an embrace. He could see the young man thinking, forming an idea in his head. He took after his father like that. And he thought he could guess what it was.

oOoOo

_2 Years Later..._

There was one day until graduation, and Ben had finished all of his exams-top of his class. He was shaking slightly and his pocket was heavy as he knocked on the Watson's door. John answered the door (Mary was at work), and he was rather unsurprised to see Benedict standing there, looking pale and nervous. "Ben! So nice to see you! Come in, come in," he said, clapping the boy on the back.

"Thanks." Ben followed John into the sitting room but he didn't sit; he couldn't. John raised an eyebrow as he saw Ben remain standing, so he did as well out of politeness and military habit. "So, what do you need? It's obviously important. Is everything all right?" he asked. Ben nodded, pacing. "I-I-I have something I need to ask you."

John nodded slowly. "All right..." he said, letting Ben speak, watching him as he paced.

"I'd like-I'm here to ask for your permission to-to-" _BREATHE, MORON_ "-to marry your daughter."

John sighed. He thought of the day Meredith was born, and the day that Benedict was born. He swallowed hard. "Benedict Tobias Holmes, I've watched you grow from my best friend's baby to a man who I am honored to know. You've made me so proud, probably about as proud as your own father. You make Meredith happy; whenever she comes home to visit, you're pretty much all she talks about. You don't have my permission...you have my _blessing_."

Ben felt his eyes burn with tears as he hugged his soon to be father-in-law. "_Thank you,"_ he whispered. John hugged him back, feeling his own eyes prickle and sting. When they finally parted, he said "So...when are you planning on asking her?"

"At her graduation...well that night anyway."

John let out a breath. "That's...two days from now. Wow. Well...I can't wait! I'm sure I'll hear the delighted screaming from here," he said, grinning widely.

Ben laughed. "Probably...I have the ring with me if you'd like to see it." It hadn't left his pockets for a week.

"Oh! Yes, that'd be lovely," he said. Now that the sentimentality was out of the way, John was getting excited.

Ben pulled the box out of his pocket and opened it. "It-it was my mother's. She, well, she _insisted_ I have it."

John's eyes went wide. He knew that ring anywhere; the sapphires and diamonds still glinted as brightly as they had when he saw it for the first time after Sherlock had proposed to Molly. "Wow. And how'd your dad feel about your mum giving up her engagement ring?" he asked, after he let out a slow, sliding whistle.

"Well, they'd apparently been discussing it for the past year, so he was fine with it by the time she gave it to me, but he did excuse himself to do the dishes before she did."

John nodded. "Right. Well...thank you, Ben, for asking permission. I really can't wait to hear it from Mer," he said, grinning broadly.

"You're welcome. It seemed right, you know...especially since those first few weeks I gave you quite a bit of trouble." He smirked at John. John laughed. "Yeah, I was torn between being happy for her and wanting to strangle you," he said.

"Yeah, the strangling part was pretty clear. I thought you were going to throw me out when you came home and saw us snogging." He blushed but laughed, remembering how they'd given his own Dad the slip that night.

"I wanted to! But I remembered how it felt to be your age; not to mention being caught by _my_ mum. _That_ was embarrassing," he said, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

"Your _Mum_ caught you? Who with? What happened?"

John flushed and cleared his throat. "It was with a girl I was dating at the time; her name was Amy, Amy Pond. God, she was gorgeous, a Scottish redhead. Anyway, we were snogging on the floor of my living room, saying we were doing 'homework'...I was about to get to second base and...Mum walked in. She smiled politely and said that it was time for Amy to go home. The minute she left, I got _such_ an earful from mum...said that I was being rude and chauvinistic and that she had raised me better," he said.

Ben snorted. "You were dating the Doctor's companion?"

John laughed. "No! Just really, really, _really_ weird coincidence," he said.

Ben joined in. "God, that's awful. All I did was have my tongue in Mer's mouth-" He broke off. "Sorry. I-I think I'll go. Thank you again."

John laughed harder; Ben was still nervous around him when it came to that. "All right. Good to see you, as always," he said as he walked him to the door. Ben ran out the door with a big grin on his face, the box back in his pocket. He couldn't wait to propose.


	23. Chapter 21

Chapter 21: Happily Ever After

Meredith graduated seventh in her class, summa cum laude. She had gotten her degree, and she was absolutely beaming. The day was amazing; her parents were so proud of her, and Aunt Molly and Uncle Sherlock and Ben were even there to cheer her on. And then Ben had _insisted_ on taking her out that night. She, of course, agreed and started counting down the hours. He had picked her up at seven, and they went to a lovely restaurant for dinner, then for a walk in the park. She admired the full moon under the spreading leaves; it was a gorgeous night.

Ben had been debating waiting until after they'd made love or popping the question in the park, but Mer looked so beautiful in the moonlight that he couldn't wait any longer. He caught her hand, pulling her to a stop. She turned to Ben as he pulled her hand. They were on top of a hill, overlooking a small pond. The air was hushed, as if in anticipation. She looked at him and smiled. "What is it?" she asked.

Not trusting himself with his words at that moment, he got down on one knee and pulled out the box, opening it. "Will you marry me, Meredith Grace Watson?"

Her eyes went wide and her hands flew to her mouth. Tears sprung up and poured down her face. She joined him on the ground, throwing her arms around his neck. "Yes... _yes_." she sobbed. She was so happy that she thought she would explode like a firework.

He slipped the ring onto her finger, the stones glinting in the moonlight, his words finally finding him. "I've known you my entire life, from the very first day I was born and you were there in the waiting room with your parents. I've loved you since I was a child and we played together every day. I've loved you since our first kiss, since we ran all over London to escape my Dad, since our first night together, since every second of every day and I can't stand the thought of living one more day without you by my side."

Mer couldn't think of how to rerspond, so she grabbed him and kissed him soundly, pouring out the depth and breadth of her heart into it. When she broke to breathe, she said "You've been my best friend, and I couldn't ask for anyone or anything else."

Ben kissed her back, still kneeling on the ground, holding her tight. She held him back, feeling her heart about to beat right out of her chest. He finally pulled away to look in her eyes. "Wanna go tell everyone first...or go back to my place?"

"Let's tell everyone first; if we go back to your place, we're not going to leave," she said, her eyes smoldering.

He groaned and kissed her again, pulling her back towards the street and hailing a cab, shoving her against the door and snogging her senseless as soon as the driver has the address; it was hard to pull away, but Ben had to wipe her lipstick off his face before facing her father

She exited the cab, legs slightly wobbly and she held his hand as they made their way up to the house. They walked in and went to find her parents. Ben helped keep her steady as they found John and Mary in the television room, watching a film

"Mum? Dad? Could you pause the movie for a minute? Ben and I need to talk to you," she said, trying to hide her excitement. John struggled to hide a grin as he paused he film, turning to look at his daughter, the joy on her face filling he entire room.

Mer took a deep breath. "Ben asked me to marry him...and I said 'yes.'" she said, her face breaking out into a blinding grin.

John glanced at the boy, approval in his eyes as he looked back to his little girl, holding out his arms. Meredith ran into her father's arms, nearly tackling him. Her mother looked quite faint. "Oh my God," Mary murmered. Then she broke into a smile that was coupled with tears running down her face. She went over and joined in the embrace, pulling Ben with her. "Oh my God! Congratulations!"

Ben let himself get yanked into the hug, one hand landing on Mer's back. He rubbed small circles, letting her know he was there. Meredith felt completely enclosed by love and it was wonderful. They all stood there for about five minutes, just holding each other. "We should probably go tell Uncle Sherlock and Aunt Molly, then Uncle Greg and Uncle Myc," she said softly.

Ben grinned. "Probably." He kissed Mary on the cheek and John pulled him into a gruff hug before the lovebirds were able to escape and head for Ben's house.

Mer smiled as she got into the cab on their way to Ben's parents house. "Oh my God...your dad is going to be my father-in-law...I can't call him 'Uncle Sherly' anymore. I have to call him Dad. And your mum is going to be _my_ mum too!" she said, trying to rap her brain around it.

Ben was hit by a similar thought about Uncle John and Aunt Mary. "That is going to be _weird_!"

She laughed. "Tell me about it..."

The cab stopped in front of Ben's childhood home and he pulled Mer from the cab; the door opened before they even reached it, Sherlock standing there. Of course he knew

Mer knew that her uncle - er - future father-in-law knew already. She raised her left hand and waved, making sure that the ring caught the light. "Hullo, Dad," she said softly, smiling.

Sherlock stared at the ring for a long moment before he registered the word she'd used. "Well, then." He turned back into the house. "Molly!"

Molly came out to join Sherlock. She stopped, seeing Ben and Mer. "Oh! Hello, you two. What brings you here?" she asked. Meredith raised her left hand again. "Hullo, Mum," she said, grinning.

Ben grinned at his Mum's reaction, the news taking about five whole seconds to register. Molly blinked slowly. Meredith had just called her 'Mum.' That meant...her eyes went wide and she gasped. "OH!" she said. "Oh, you did it! You really did it!" she said, running over to the two of them and wrapping her arms tight around them, squeezing them half to pieces.

"Mum-" Ben choked, struggling to breathe; it didn't help when his Dad came over and added his strength to the hug. Mer felt the added pressure of Sherlock coming in and hugging them, and what little breath was in her lungs was forced out of her. "Ca' bref..." she gasped. Molly seemed to understand and let her go immediately. "I'm so happy for you both," she said, tears streaming down her face.

Ben hugged his Mum as she cried, nearly falling over when Sherlock clapped him on the back. Mer grinned as she saw Ben rock forward, a genuine grin lighting up the normally stoic detective's face.

After a few more moments, the two excused themselves saying they had one more family to visit. Mer took a deep breath. One more cab ride. "I bet your uncle already knows," she said, knowing that everyone's business was Mycroft's business.

"He probably saw me propose."

She nodded, chuckling. "Probably."

Ben grinned, pulling her to his chest as they went to the elder Holmes' and Greg's very luxurious house. Mer rang the bell. She wasn't at all surprised when Mycroft answered the door.

"Ah, Benedict, Meredith. Do come in," he said, smiling. She opened her mouth to say something and Mycroft said "I do know why you're here; but be quiet for now while I go get Greg," he said.

Ben grinned, leading Mer to the sofa. "This should be good."

Mycroft went and fetched his husband (and their son, while he was at it). When the three of them were in the sitting room, they exchanged pleasantries for a brief moment. "Ah...Uncle Greg...Ben and I are getting married," Mer said, beaming from ear to ear and holding up the ring.

Lestrade stared at it, his brain trying to wrap itself around it before Archie went "Married? To each other? Aren't you, like, siblings?"

She laughed. "Yes, to each other. No, we're not 'siblings'...we're just best friends who let that grow into something more," she explained to the younger boy.

Lestrade burst out laughing, shaking his head and grinning at his husband. "This boy..." He looked back at the kids. "Get over here and give an old man a hug."

Both Mer and Ben eagerly complied, wrapping Greg in an embrace. "You too, Uncle Myc," she said cheekily, grinning. "And you too, Archie! I'm gonna be your cousin!" she said, holding open one arm, to beckon them into the embrace.

Mycroft chuckled, joining the hug and pulling Archie into it as well, despite the protests. The boy squirmed and protested, but finally allowed himself to be hugged, before wriggling his way free and running off to go play with his video games.

Ben gave an extra squeeze to his uncles before pulling back. "We'll decide on a date soon and everything, but we expect you two geezers there."

Mycroft scoffed. "My dear boy...like I'd miss this for the world," he said fondly, proudly.

"Good. We need to go now. Places to see, people to do-" He stopped, blushing furiously. "Sorry about that-"

Mer's eyebrows went up and Mycroft started laughing. "Well, by all means don't let your Freudian slip stop you. We'll catch up with you later. And congratulations again, to the both of you," he said as he ushered them out the door.

Ben was blushing all the way back to the cab. "I. Am. So. Sorry."

She started laughing. "Well, you _were_ telling the truth," she said, grinning cheekily. "Now...shall we go back to your flat and...celebrate?" she asked, her grin fading to more of a smirk, her eyes bright.

He returned the look, his eyes darkening from blue to black. "Oh, yes we shall."

"_Good_." she said, her voice a low purr. The way his eyes changed suddenly made her ache and burn for him even more, knowing that hers must have looked the same.

The cab ride seemed to suddenly take forever, Ben aching to get back, not even trusting himself with a single kiss.

She noted Ben carefully holding himself in control throughout the suddenly torturously long cab ride back to his flat. When they finally got back to it, she exited the cab without touching him. And when they got inside his flat, after he shut the door behind them, all she did was gently touch his lower back with a single finger, trailing her touch up and over his spine before removing her hand. He was nearly shaking and she felt her lips curl up into a smile.

He turned to her slowly, eyes nearly pitch black as he seized her, crushing their lips together in a fiery kiss. She felt distinctly and pleasantly bruised as he kissed her fiercely. She returned it with equal enthusiasm, wrapping her arms around him.

"What would you like tonight, my princess? We could try one of those, uh, _fantasies_ you mentioned a few weeks ago..."

Her breath caught in her throat. She knew _exactly_ what she wanted, but she was a little nervous about bringing it up. She worried her lower lip between her teeth. Swallowing hard she took the plunge. "...Master?" she said softly, looking up at him through her eyelashes.

Ben instantly stood up straighter, clasping his hands behind his back and walking around her. "Yes, yes I think you'll do quite nicely."

She kept her eyes downcast even as she fought to keep the grin off her face. He smacked her arse gently. "Something funny?"

She started. "No, Master," she said quietly.

"Good. There shouldn't be. Now, count to thirty before you come straight to my room. And get rid of anything that is not a blouse or underwear." He turned and marched to his room

She silently counted to thirty, then hastily stripped herself of everything but her shirt, bra, and knickers before padding on soft feet to his bedroom. She stood in the doorway, awaiting further instruction.

Ben had stripped down to his underwear and was holding a pair of plush cuffs in his hands. "I'm sure you won't object to these."

Mer swallowed hard once more, her eyes going dark with lust and excitement and a bit of nervousness. "No, Master," she said, a bit breathless.

"Well, get over here. I'm not doing this for you."

She hastily obeyed. He touched her cheek, tracing one long finger down her face. "On the bed, hands above your head."

She shuddered with pleasure at his small touch and did as she was told, laying on her back with her arms raised above her head. He cuffed one wrist before looping the links through the headboard and cuffing her other, standing back to look. "Yes, yes indeed, that works." He was barely in control anymore.

She bit her lip and watched him surreptitiously from under her eyelashes, her breaths coming quicker. He tugged off his pants and slowly climbed onto the bed, hovering over her but not touching as he reached for a condom

She had to fight not to arch up, desperate for some contact. She was unable to stifle a whimper, the sound eloquent with want. He shot her a look laden with lust and disapproval as he rolled the condom on. "You want me, hmmmm? You want this in you?" He motioned toward his arousal.

Meredith took a shuddering breath. "Yes, Master," she said.

Ben knew he'd need to practice before they did this again because he couldn't deny her any longer as leaned down and kissed her hard, entering her roughly at the same time, nipping and licking her lips with his teeth for a moment before moving his lips to her neck and sucking a huge bruise onto the skin

She gasped and keened as he kissed her hard and entered her fast at the same time, using his teeth and tongue on her. Again, she had to fight to stay still as she could even though she wanted, _needed_ to move against him.

He was breathing raggedly before he started to thrust hard into her, taking no prisoners and showing no mercy as it were. She couldn't fight it anymore; when he started to thrust, so did she, straining against the cuffs, holding on to the chain for leverage as she moved with him.

He stopped, pulling out completely. "You want this, you hold _still_." His eyes flashed, his hands gripping her arms tight enough to make a point but not enough to bruise. He could feel we was losing himself in this persona, a tiny part of him afraid she would be scared. She shivered and nearly cried as he stopped and pulled out. He was in total control, and he was clearly very into this role, gripping her arms tightly. She should have been frightened, but it just thrilled her. "Yes, Master..." she gasped.

He entered her again, slightly more gradual this time but quickly gaining speed, keeping his hands on her arms to remind her to obey

She fought so hard to keep still, biting her lower lip until she broke the skin and bled, her hands holding tight to the chains of the cuffs, feeling him move in her and knowing that there was nothing she could do about it if she wanted him to continue.

He finally released on of her arms, bring his hand down to stroke her. "You want me, then you come when I tell you, and it won't be just once." He prayed he could keep that promise. She gasped as he touched her. "Yes...yes, Master," she gasped. A challenge, one that she was more than glad to accept.

"Then do it already," he groaned, pressing and tweaking her in just the right spot. She shattered with a wail at his touch and his order, arching and bucking, her toes curling.

Ben grinned, biting his lip and gripping himself for a second to stall his climax before pounding back into her, trying to hold on for a few more minutes. "Clench around me, Meredith, come on."

She did as she was told, tightening her inner muscles around him as much as she could, breathing hard. Three more thrusts and he came, biting her shoulder, his fingers flying over her crotch to make her come again. He brushed his fingers against her sex again, in just the right way. It made her arch and keen again, shouting his name as she rode out the waves of her pleasure against him.

They finally collapsed, panting and sweaty as Ben undid the cuffs, rubbing her wrists to make sure the circulation hadn't been cut off. "You-alright?"

She nodded, unable to speak for the moment.

He pulled out slowly, disposing of the condom and tucking them both in, spooning against her, his arm around her belly. She snuggled back into his warmth, feeling his heartbeat against her back as their sweat dried on their skin, his arm draped possessively around her. She smiled as she drifted off to sleep.

"I love you, gorgeous," he murmured, kissing her ear before following her into their dreams.

oOoOo

Meredith sat calmly in a chair as the stylist worked on her hair, but her calm exterior belied the turmoil that was roiling in her brain and her gut; she was getting _married_. The date was picked, the invitations sent, the venue selected, the music, the color schemes, the food, the cake, the honeymoon, and now it was T-minus one hour to her wedding. The exchanging of vows. She took a deep breath and let it out, allowing her eyes to close as she tried to still her mind. It didn't work. She looked over to her mother, who was staring at her with love and anxiousness in her eyes. "Mum, I'm so nervous," she admitted. Her mother gave her a knowing smile. "That's to be expected; you're taking one of the largest steps in your life today, my love, and it's a wonderful and scary thing," she reassured her daughter, holding her hand.

oOoOo

Ben couldn't hold still; his father, uncles, and soon to be father-in-law had to pin him down in order to get his tux on, his father running a brush through his wet hair (he had been treated to a surprise ice cold shower, just like his dad, courtesy of Uncle Myc), and now he was being wrapped up in a very fancy suit and was so surrounded by the men in his family that he couldn't move except to fidget nervously. He was about to get freaking _married_!

"If I had to get dumped in an ice-cold shower the morning of my nuptials, so should you," his father said, raising an eyebrow as he brushed through Ben's hair. John, Mycroft and Greg all laughed uproariously, recalling that day well.

"You should've heard him _shout_. I thought he would blister the paint off the walls with his cursing," John said, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes.

Ben's lip twitched; the thought was funny, but exactly what he was doing was finally setting in, and the thought he might very well be sick. "I'm nervous," he admitted quietly as Uncle Greg fixed up his bowtie, sliding a single red tulip into his buttonhole.

Sherlock sighed and shooed his friends and family out of the room so he could talk to his son alone. "Benedict Tobias Holmes; of course you're nervous. _I_ was nervous when I was going to be married to your mother. I could hardly believe that she could stand me enough to fall in love with me, much less want to spend the rest of her life with me. And yet we did; we were married, and we had you. Now it's your turn. Make the step and take the plunge. You and I both know that Meredith loves you with every fiber of her being. And you love her just as much. And..." here he took a breath and had to blink back tears of pride and joy and a bit of sadness; his boy, his baby, his child, was grown up now, "-you are my son. And I am so, _so_ proud of you," he finished, his voice slightly thick as he swallowed hard.

Ben looked up at his father, at the head of thick, dark hair shot with silver at the temples, the same piercing blue eyes staring back down at him that he knew looked up at the great detective. He threw his arms around Sherlock, hugging him close. "Thanks, Dad," he whispered.

Sherlock embraced his son back, trying to be careful not to crush the flower in his lapel. He kissed his son's forehead, much like he had when he was an infant. "Go. Time to see your _wife. _And it is perfectly acceptable to cry or nearly faint at the altar; I did." he said, grinning, his eyes developing a faraway look as he recalled his Molly walking towards him in that blue dress, roses in her hair and a smile on her lips.

Ben started laughing, unable to stop as nerves took over. "I'm so glad we're taking Uncle Myc's car. If I had to drive..." he couldn't finish, running a hand through his slicked down hair before taking both hands and mussing it up, letting it curl despite the groan from the rest of the family as he left the room and joined them.

The men all got into the sleek government car and took the ride to the church. It was quiet as all of them were lost in thought, remembering their own wedding days and thinking about the new one that was to come.

oOoOo

Meredith was pacing now, her skirt flaring as she turned. "You know, your Aunt Molly did the exact same thing right before she was married to Sherlock," Mary said, grinning. Mer let out a nervous giggle. "I have so much energy; I can't calm down," she said, feeling a little desperate. "Shh. You'll be _fine_, my love. I'm sure Benedict is just as nervous as you are," her mother said soothingly.

"But what if it all goes wrong? What if something awful happens? What if-?" Mer started, fretting.

Her mother interrupted her, taking her by the upper arms to hold her still. "Meredith Grace Watson, you will be just fine! Benedict loves you madly and clearly wants to spend the rest of his life with you. You know this, I know this, anyone with eyes in their head knows this! Now _breathe_. They'll be here soon, and then...oh, my darling daughter...then you have the happiest day of your life ahead of you," Mary said, beaming at her child, her daughter, her baby girl.

oOoOo

Sherlock had to drag his son from the car, the boy apparently having lost his ability to move freely. He helped him into the church and up to the altar, Ben greeting his friend Alex from Uni who had agreed to be his best man. Ben watched his father join his mother who was crying (of course) and kiss her on the forehead before holding her close. He'd heard so many stories about what the man was like in his youth, and he could see traces of it from time to time, but it seemed that the difficult man had all but vanished, leaving this kind and considerate and still very brilliant person in his place. Ben fidgeted with his cuffs nervously, trying to remember to breathe.

The minutes that were left before the guests all arrived and the wedding party assembled and the music began seemed to drag. Meredith's best friend (and maid of honor) Julie was reassuring her, adding last minute touches to her makeup and straightening her wedding gown and train, making sure the veil was in place. She took deep breaths, trying to calm her racing heart. She knew that Ben must be as nervous as she was. She smiled as she thought about their dates, their time together, even their arguments, treasuring each one. Then she started as she noted the time; the wedding party needed to gather for the processional. She took one more deep breath, uttered a quick prayer for strength and guidance and walked to the doors. Her father was standing there to walk her down the aisle, arm in arm. She saw his eyes fill with tears.

"Oh Meredith...you look stunning," he said, his voice thick. She smiled back. _Don't cry don't cry don't cry you'll ruin your makeup don't cry_! she thought.

"Thanks. I love you, Daddy," she said softly as she tucked her arm through his. The music began and she held her head high as she waited for her turn to walk down the aisle, bouquet of tulips in hand.

Ben looked up as the doors open, nails digging into his palm as he struggled to keep still, but when he saw Mer...he stopped breathing because she was the single most gorgeous person he'd ever seen in his entire life.

Meredith could see Ben through the slight film of her veil. She cursed her bodice for being too tight because it was making her light-headed, although to be honest, it had nothing to do with the bodice and everything to do with the dashing figure that Ben cut in a tux. The long skirt of her gown rustled with every step she took and she was suddenly intensely aware of the feel of it against her skin; the lace of her sleeves, the beadwork, the train behind her. Mer finally, _finally_ made it to the altar and just stood there, staring at her fiancé, a grin on her face that was blinding.

Ben had to force himself to remember to breathe as he watched John lift the veil and kiss is daughter on the cheek before gesturing for Ben to take her hand. He did, squeezing it gently and giving her a tentative half-smile, her favorite before turning to the priest.

She barely listened through the traditional call and response of the preacher, only tuning in when it was time for her to read her vows; she and Ben had written their own. She swallowed hard and faced him as she began to speak. "Benedict; you were my first friend, my _best_ friend. I've known you since, well, since before we were born, I guess. We've grown up together, and now I want to grow old together. I love you so much; you've always been there for me, you've always had my back when no one else did. I vow to stay faithful and true no matter what happens, in sickness and in health, for richer and for poorer, 'til death do us part. Because you are my one, you are my only, you are my _all_. And I will ever be yours." she said, taking a deep breath to stop tears from falling and failing as one traced its way down her cheek. She could hear people in the audience sniffling.

Ben knew his eyes were glistening with tears, and he had to sniff before starting his, making Mer giggle. "Meredith Grace Watson, you were there on the day I was born, and ever since I can remember, you've always been there. I can't imagine life without you, but even if I hadn't met you yet, I'd keep looking until I found you because you complete me. You make me my heart pound and my palms sweat just like that night I took you on our first date, and it's still true. I want to wake up with you in the morning and fall asleep with you at night and I want to die and the same time, in each other's arms in our sleep, surrounded by children and grandchildren. I vow to be faithful and honest, to always be there for you because 'Here comes the sun and it's all right,' Mer. I will always be yours, heart, mind and soul." (1)

She had to stifle a sob. He always knew _exactly_ what to say. The preacher cleared her throat. "By the power vested in me by the Church of England, I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride," she said. And kiss they did, to thunderous applause.

Ben swept her into his arms and dipped her, kissing her as she hung onto his neck, smiling as he heard the clapping and the cheering. When he straightened up, his arm around her waist, he smile at his parents and gave a nod to John, almost a salute.

The preacher had one last word, the one that solidified it all; "Ladies and Gentlemen, friends and family and loved ones; it is my honor and pleasure to introduce to you Mr. and Mrs. Benedict Holmes."

Ben's stomach flipped as he walked back down the aisle, the gold ring on his finger heavy and cold and new, reminding him that everything was real, that he'd just gotten married, that he and Mer would be together forever.

oOoOo

They went to the reception, the bright golden band that now sat on her left ring finger flashing and making it seem hyper-real to Mer. They ate and they talked and they laughed; then it was time for the dancing. She took to the floor with her father for the Father/Daughter dance; the music was a simple waltz and she spun and twirled with her father...her _Daddy_. She was reminded of the times they danced at home when she was a little girl, him holding her in his arms as she shrieked with laughter as he dipped her and twirled her around. She remembered his broad grin and how, to her, the world seemed to sit upon his shoulders and rest in his hands. Because he was her _Daddy_, and he would make everything all right, no matter what.

John beamed at his daughter as they danced, seeing his baby girl and his grown up daughter at the same time while he twirled her. "Now, you make sure he's good to you or I'll be having words with him, you hear? I may be far removed from the army, but I still know how to kill a man."

She laughed. "Daddy, he's still scared stiff of you if you glare at him. Don't worry, I'll be fine," she said, resting her head on his shoulder for a moment. John hugged her close, chuckling. "Good, as well he should be."

She let out a sigh. "I love you, Daddy," she said, her voice slightly thick as she pulled back, her eyes sparkling with tears even as she beamed at him. The music ended and they came to a stop as applause from the guests broke out. He kissed her forehead and led her from the floor as Ben swept his mother into a dance.

Molly had to swallow hard as she danced with her son. She remembered with vivid detail the day she found out she was carrying him, the day he was born, his birthdays, his triumphs and his failures. The day he came to her for advice about what to say to Meredith, how to ask her out on a date. The day that he came to her again for advice on what to say to Meredith, how to ask her to marry him. Her son, her child, her baby boy; with his father's eyes and hair and her smile and mouth. "You be good to her, or John will kill you," she murmured to him, smiling a bit.

Ben blanched, holding on tight to his Mummy. "You think I don't know that? He wouldn't even be merciful; he'd draw it out for days and then kill me."

She had to laugh. "Just keep doing what you're doing and I'm sure you'll be fine. And don't be afraid to ask for advice; you're about as stubborn as your father on that front," she said.

He rolled his eyes, "Mum, I'll be fine!"

She swatted his arm lightly. "Don't talk back to your mother," she said, teasingly.

"Sorry," he grinned, hugging her as the song came to an end. "Thanks, Mum."

She hugged him back and pressed one last kiss on his forehead. "Always and any time, my baby. Always."

_(1)- Here Comes the Sun- The Beatles_


	24. Epilogue

Epilogue: Phone Call

Molly was sitting down after a long day at work, next to Sherlock in his chair in the sitting room when the phone rang. "I'll get it!" she said as she rose once more to fetch the phone.

"Hullo, Holmes residence, Molly speaking," she said.

There was a bit of a crackle on the end of the line. "Mum? It's Mer," the voice on the other end said. "Is Dad there? Can you put us on speakerphone?" Molly blinked. "All right," she said, wandering back into the sitting room and doing as she was asked.

Sherlock looked up as Molly came back into the room, putting the call on speakerphone. "Who is it?"

"Meredith and I'm assuming Ben as well," she said. "Yup! We're both here!" Mer's voice came in cheerfully over the line.

"Hi, Mum. Hi Dad!"

Molly chuckled as she heard her son's voice. "All right, I'm here with Dad and you're on speakerphone. What's up?" she asked. She could hear them both take a deep breath and a nervous giggle. "So, you're going to be grandparents," Meredith said quietly, a smile evident in her voice.

Molly's eyes went wide and she felt tears fill her eyes. Grandparents. They were going to be _grandparents_.

"The test was positive this morning, so Mer's at least three weeks along based on...you know, stuff," Ben said. "We've already told Uncle John and he's really happy for us, so I wanted to make sure we told you guys. I mean, we'll be finishing our trip of course, but we'll be home in a few weeks so Mer can get checked on and everything."

Sherlock looked at Molly, standing and walking over to his wife, holding her close and smiling. "Congratulations, Ben, Meredith, I'm so happy for you."

"Yes...Congratulations!" Molly said, finding her voice, smiling so brightly that she put the stars to shame. They talked a little more about the trip and about the impending new arrival before they hung up. She stood there, leaning against her husband quietly. "I can barely believe it; we're going to be Grandmum and Granddad," she said softly, marveling at the words.

Sherlock smiled. "I can believe it of course, it just has managed to amaze me how quickly the time has flown. It really does feel like yesterday that we were changing his diapers. Soon he'll be doing it himself."

She chuckled. "Payback..." she said. Then she pondered what he had said, how the time really had seemed to pass in the blink of an eye. Their reunion, their marriage, their child. And now he would have his child. She turned to face her husband, her dearest love. "Sherlock...the time has passed so quickly. I'm...I just...I hope you know how glad and grateful I am to have spent it all with you," she said.

One hand slid to her hips while the other cupped her face, new wrinkles and lines there that hadn't been when they'd first met, when she'd helped him, when he'd fallen in love with her. "To find someone willing to put up with me, that has been one of the most wonderful things for me, and I'm very glad that it was you."

She smiled and leaned into his touch, observing the silver in his hair and the new careworn lines on his face, before looking into his eyes, the sharp, clear eyes that had not changed. "'Till all the seas gang dry, my dearest love. 'Till all the seas gang dry." (1)

_(1)- A Red, Red Rose- Robert Burns_

_**And there you have it! Our magnum opus, quite literally. Thank you so much for reading all the way through, to those of you who have graced us with reviews and marvelous words and things. I'm now on Archive of Our Own where you can find all of my/our works: **__** /users/thebookworm214/works**__**. If you go there, you will be able to find the companion fic to this one...Putting Us Back Together: The Lost Chapters. I will no longer be posting new stories to , only finishing up what has already been started. Everything will be permanently on Archive, so I truly look forward to seeing you there. As always, read and review, you marvelous reader.**_


End file.
